


Irrelevant

by RemainNameless



Category: Original Work
Genre: Closeted Character, Dubious Consent, Identity Issues, Multi, Power Imbalance, Smoking, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-07-25 21:49:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7548442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemainNameless/pseuds/RemainNameless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2002, boy band Nude Illusion frontman Rudy Burns inexplicably walks off stage during a performance, making it their last. His sex tape surfaces two days later and he drops off the face of the earth, wrecking the band's chances for commercial success and destroying his secret relationship with fellow band member Mason Emory. </p><p>Fourteen years after the fact, Mason is a struggling country musician deeply in debt to his label after a string of failures.<br/>He has one chance to buy his freedom: a reunion tour. For that, he needs Rudy. </p><p>Rudy may agree to step back into the spotlight to pay off his own debts to Mason, but to survive the tour, they'll have to find a way to work together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This thing is the reason I stopped writing fanfic so uhhhhh if anyone gives two shits about something that's not in a fandom, I'mma be posting this motherfucker here  
> first full chapter coming by the end of the day don't worry, tags soon once i get that all figured out, but nothing weird in these first parts

A crisp October wind whistles around Union Square, and a clear-eyed boy with his grandfather’s name hammers out a melody on an old toy xylophone. Hundreds of people walk by every day, a few who stand and listen, fewer still who drop a quarter or a bill into his cap. In a few hours, he’ll gather up his earnings and take the chain of trains back to his sister’s apartment in the Bronx, but for now, he plays and sings and hopes to make enough to pick up a sandwich at the bodega two blocks over.

A nanny shepherds her flock of children past him, a couple locked tight together at the arms, a family of tourists. All sorts of different people that it seems like he’s seen _every_ person walk past him, seen the entire population of New York move from one side of his vision to the other.

And then someone goes from right to left and then back to the center. Man, later thirties, mid-level suit. He stands for a moment, listens, and moves on. The next day, he’s back, only listening for a moment again before continuing on his way. And again and again.

On the fifth day, he squats down and holds out a paper-wrapped burger. The chill and the dryness of the air make it feel charged with something, electricity or destiny.

After a moment, the boy, suspicious but hungry, finishes his song and pauses for a moment. He doesn’t take the burger.

“It’s not gonna bite you, kid,” the man says, waving it. The boy doesn’t speak. “No, no, you’re right, there’s no such thing as a free lunch. So howabout this: I’ll give you five bucks for lunch if you gimme five minutes.”

The boy pulls his left sleeve down further over his wrist. “What do you want?” he asks, the wind rising, the low roar of conversation, cars, distant trains, scuffing footsteps, all settling around him like a shroud. His skin prickles.

“I want to make you famous.”

It’s part of a pattern, the quiet repetition of fate, like a tide coming in. A thousand deals with a thousand devils leading to this particular crossroads and this particular boy positioned at their meeting.

From his grandfather, the boy has a name, perfect pitch, and a quiet, churning hunger inside him that food has never satisfied. He’s young enough that he believes that a stranger could hand him the life he wants on a platter. He believes in miracles, in good fortune, in luck.

He says yes.


	2. One

The afterlife of Jay Bloom starts two years after his death. It’s quiet, like gravel underfoot.

It happens in a very small house sitting on Idahoan soil at just a bit of a slant. Inside, his pencils will roll off of the kitchen counter if his he doesn’t set them down just so. The carpeted hallway between the living room and the bedroom creaks. The front door gets sticky when the seasons change.

It’s not a bad place for a resurrection, and fifteen years into it, Jay can sometimes forget that he were ever anyone else. As if he never killed himself to bring Rudy Burns into the world. As if there aren't ghosts in his dreams.

Jay ties up his boots sitting on the step at his door, a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Somewhere down the road, someone’s got a smoker going, the burnt hickory winding through the air. It’s a good smell that drags an old memory to the surface: Texas under a July sun, the damp cold of a beer bottle in his hand, the buzz of cicadas. Someone else’s life.

Stubbing out his cigarette into an ashtray, Jay stands. Shakes it off. This is what’s his now, this house with the crackly brown grass and the cat who puts up with him and the business he runs. It’s all that matters.

 

###

 

“You’re going to have to go on tour again,” Emily says, scrolling through something on her tablet.

Mason stares at her a moment, hoping he imagined the words coming out of her mouth.

“Your last album didn’t sell for shit and you know it,” she tells him, looking him dead in the eye. “You’re almost two-fifty in the hole. I told you before you decided to go in for recording that you should’ve done a tour, and look where we are now. You put yourself two hundred grand further in debt.”

He scrubs his hands over his face, grunting. “It won’t work. I can’t get that back with a tour. No way.”

“I told you how to do it when they pitched it to me a year ago, and for good. Remember?”

“Are you…” he starts, squinting at her. “Nope. That’s so, _so_ desperate. I’m not going to pull every favor I got outta Lucas and Jaz for a goddamn _reunion_ tour.”

Emily shrugs, flipping her tablet around to show him spreadsheets. “I’ve looked at their numbers. Considering that your original fan base is now in the prime target demographic, that’s where the real money’s gonna be. And nostalgia’s always a bestseller. I’m promising you that you could walk away with a solid hundred and fifty towards your existing problem.”

“That’s not a solution. If I’m still a hundred in the hole, then it’s not enough. There’s no point.”

“Well, those are the predictions based on the three-person lineup,” she says, then looks at him with a pursed little smile. “But you would do substantially better with all four of you.” She flips to another spreadsheet, holds it out to him. The numbers he's looking at are...surprising, to say the least.

Alright, she’s definitely smoking something, because that’s so far from an option it’s not even a good joke.

“I’m serious, Mason. If Rudy Burns is still alive, bringing him back into the spotlight would sell like _mad_. Mystery is drama, and drama puts money in the bank. People who never listened to Nude Illusion would buy tickets just to see what the hell happened to him. If you wanna put bodies in every stadium seat, Rudy’s your ace.”

He stares at her a moment. “How sure are you?”

“Ill be honest with you,” she says. “It wasn’t my idea. You know who I answer to, and they’ve been pushing me to get you on-board for a while now. There hasn’t been a big name American boy band since the Jonas Brothers, and now that One Direction’s our of the picture, you have almost no competition.” She shrugs. “You could make a profit. Even after deductions, after your debt and accrued interest. I think you could use it to get out of the business entirely.”

“Yeah?” He’s not gonna get his hopes up. He’s not.

“Yep.”

It’s stupid to even hope. It’ll only work _if_ Rudy’s still alive, _if_ Mason can find him, and _if_ Rudy will do it in the first place.

That’s way too many _if_ s.

 

###

 

Pepper’s truck is already back by the dumpster when Jay gets to the bar. He parks next to it.

She’s leaning against the wall near the back door, a cigarette tight in her fingers. Layers of fine, straight sandy hair flutter in the crisp breeze. Her eyes are puffy, skin tight. The baby’s probably keeping her up, but she's never complained. She's been looking after her sister since she was a teenager herself, and just when she could start having her own life again, Mitch ends up in trouble. Jay would've bitched, but Pepper's a stronger sort. Like he remembers his mother being.

“You look like shit, you know,” he tells her, and she flicks her ash to the side. Nods. They're not...nice to each other, they talk like siblings, but there's caring beneath it.

“Mitch had to go to school today with that truancy guy after her, so I've had to watch Dusty since last night. I haven’t slept since…well, I don’t actually remember. I have an excuse for looking like this, though. You're just born ugly.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, yeah, take a nap, gorgeous.” Between the two of them, they’ve probably got every sleep disorder in the book, so they have a couch just barely wedged into the back office. 

“I’m gonna peek in the walk-in before I drop, see how the pilsner’s doing.”

“Go for it,” he says, excited to check off another day before the batch is ready. "Careful, though. You're gonna give it performance anxiety."

She snorts. “You say that every day.” She drops her butt into a can and they head on inside.

“I just don't wanna mess with our good juju.”

She bats his concern away with a hand. “Mitch _is_ coming in tonight, by the way,” she tells him. "After school. Found a sitter."

“Good. We’ll need her help. Fridays are the worst.”

The lights stutter on as he moves through the back. Pepper takes a turn towards their little improvised brewery, but he goes on to check out the bar, the floor, the little stage. They missed a couple spots sweeping last night, but it’s not too bad. It’s his home-away-from-home, at least. Twelve years ago, Jerry hired him to tend bar a couple nights a week. Now, Jerry’s daughter takes care of him and he’s left the running of the joint to Jay and Pepper. Every now and then, he’ll come in, make sure they haven’t burned the place down, but he trusts them. Told Pepper he’s gonna leave them the place in his will after all they’ve done for it.

They keep it warm and alive. The brewing operation’s just a side project they started a few years ago after some late-night half-drunk conversations about their favorite beers. They've had five successful brews so far, and they’ve got a bar in Oregon that buys from them pretty regularly. It’s a good, honest business, held together with their hard work and love.

Doors open in an hour. Readying himself with a deep breath, Jay turns on their music and gets to work.

 

###

 

Mason leans back in his chair in Emily’s office. On speaker, his phone’s ringing, waiting to be picked up. Jaz is always shit at answering his phone.

“ _Mason fucking Emory_ ,” he greets. “ _Are you about to tell me we can't have the ranch in August? Because my lady already put in her vacation time._ ” As if Mason would try to pull that  _It's my house so I want it when I want it_ bullshit. As if he takes any sort of vacation.

“No, no, nothing like that. Just thinking that I’m no good at keeping in touch. How you been, man?”

Jaz snorts. “ _Why do I get the feeling you’re not calling to see how I am?_ ” Mason glances up at Emily, guilty. She doesn’t seem to give a damn.

“You got me, I guess,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “It’s a business call.”

“ _I’m not in a business. That’s how stay-at-home works._ ”

“Yeah? Cause I’ve got an opportunity for you. A good one. Call it a last ride. We could have some fun, make some money.”

Humming, Jaz says, “ _I don’t know if I like where this is going. Give it to me straight, no pitch._ ”

“I wanna get the guys back together. Reunion tour. Just America, nothing too crazy. Maybe thirty shows, all of it over the summer. What do you think?”

“ _I think you’re a little bit out of your mind. What, you started to miss the glory days?_ ”

“Not exactly. Remember when you and Lucas told me to get out for good while I could? Should’ve listened to you, I s’pose.” This is probably the wrong way to pitch it, but it’s all he’s got, really. “I’m broke. Worse than. You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it.”

“ _Well_.” He pauses a long time, the silence stretching longer between Mason’s sweaty palms. “ _It's gonna take some working out, so_ _I’m in if Lucas is. The summer, right?_ ”

“Yeah, just the summer. And thanks, man. Seriously.”

“ _That’s not a full yes. If you can get Lucas to leave his shit behind, then alright_. _But you better talk to him. And I'm still off for the last two weeks of August_.”

“Alright. Got it. Thanks for hearing me out.”

“ _No problem. We’ve gotta stick together, don’t we? The three amigos and all that_.”

Mason winces. “About that. Um. I don’t know if it’s gonna happen, but I’m trying to find him. Rudy.”

There’s a long, long silence on the other end. Mason and Emily share a look.

“ _Is that a good idea? I don’t think he wants to be found._ ”

“Would you do it, if he were there too?”

Jaz laughs. “ _Man, it’s all history to me. We all wanted out. I couldn’t hold that grudge. But are_ you _gonna be able to do it with him?_ ”

“I gotta. Don’t have much of a choice, really.” A damning silence. “I’m gonna call Lucas, okay?”

“ _Yeah, you do that. Let me know how it goes, man._ ”

Mason hangs up, breathes.

“Are you going to have a problem with Rudy?” Emily asks. She’s got that solid, nonjudgmental look on.

“I hope not. But if anyone’s gonna be able to find him, it’s me.”

“Have you had contact with him?”

He shakes his head. “No, but I’ve got a lead. That’s more than anyone else has.” Uncomfortable, he smiles. “I’ll call Lucas. See what he says.”

Emily nods and he scrolls through his phone to find the contact. Calls.

Oh how he wishes he didn’t have to do this.

“ _Hey, bro. Everything okay?_ ”

Mason bites the inside of his cheek, thinking, then just lets it out. “I’m calling to ask you to do a summer reunion tour. For the band. The whole band.”

“ _Whoa. Okay. Like, the whole-whole band?_ ”

“Yeah,” Mason says, then lets out a little sigh. “I’m gonna try to find Rudy. So you know I wouldn’t ask unless it was important.”

“ _Have you talked to Jasper already?_ ”

“He’s in if you’re in.”

“ _Well, I’m in if Rudy’s in. I kinda hope he is. It’ll be good for you. Closure, and all that._ ”

“Oh, ha ha. Yeah, it’ll be real therapeutic, I’m sure.”

“ _How’re you gonna find him? He disappeared himself real fucking well, didn’t he? With cash, too, I figure. You know, with that whole video thing.”_ Ah, yes. Mason’s gonna forget about that again. Forcibly. “ _I tried, is what I’m saying. But he must’ve changed his name, cause all I found were dead ends._ ”

“I think I’ve got another name for him. I started looking, once—“ He glances up at Emily, and she’s surprised, but there wasn’t a reason to tell her at the time. “I got a private investigator, but I didn’t really wanna know. I guess it’s time, though.”

“ _Do it. Find him. I kinda miss the guy sometimes, you know?_ ”

Mason doesn’t answer, but Lucas gets it.

“ _I gotta dash, alright? Call me if you find anything._ ”

“Will do.”

Emily hangs up for him, looking at him hard, the kind of look he can’t get away from.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Mason hesitates, not sure how to word it. “Things were different back then. We were close.” She sits back, holding him in place with her stare.

“How close?”

He doesn’t look at her, shrugs, and she sighs long and loud enough for him to think she has an idea. It’s not like she doesn’t know where his tastes lie, considering that she was the one who set up his “girlfriend” a while back.

“This whole thing is going to be a heart attack waiting to happen for me, isn’t it?”

He shrugs a _yes_.

“You know I hate playing publicist.”

“You’re the only one I trust,” he says honestly.

Emily sighs. “I’ve got a contact, under the label. Used to be a journalist, so she’s great with spin, but she does publicity now. You’ll need her on this. If you want to keep your private life private, she’s your girl. And she’s friendly, at least, to these kinds of things. You have my word that she's good people.”

“Let me find Rudy, and then you can call her.”

 

###

 

Jay pats Paul, a regular with a cracked face and scraggly beard, on the back as he ushers him out into the cold early, early morning.

He turns back inside. Pepper’s kid sister Mitch watches him as she wipes glasses, the long braid of her hair coming loose.

“Last customer out the door,” she says, grinning.

“Thank God,” he replies, like he always does. Even with the baby, she usually helps him close on weekends, the past month excluded, and they’ve got a routine.

The last glass is finished and she sets down her towel. “I’ll get on mopping the back. You gonna have this place swept when I’m done?”

He shrugs, smiling. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

“God, I don’t even know what I pay you for. Lazy bones.”

“Hey, respect your elders!” he calls after her as she gets to it.

Then he’s alone. It’s always a nice feeling, being alone in the bar. It’s a little bit wrong, but it’s nice.

It was a slow night, though, for a Friday. They’ve been cleaning here and there so they can shut it all down quick.

He sweeps along the wall, around to the stage. There’s an old electric piano, a microphone. They do open mic nights a couple times a month, for fun, really. But it’s a pretty shitty piano. Wasn’t a great one when it was bought new, but he didn’t have a couple grand to drop on it. Still doesn’t. The sound is going, the tone spreading when he taps the keys.

It’s not something he’s good at, seeing a lone piano and walking away. There’s a need in him, worse because he doesn’t satisfy it. Not hardly ever.

But he’s got a minute. Just a minute.

Even though it doesn’t sound great, just spreading his hands across the keys feels good. His fingers find chords, walk up and down the keyboard. It’s addictive, is what it is. Making sounds.

“Since when do you play piano?” Mitch calls from across the room, and his hands still.

“Learned when I was a kid is all. Just picked up a few things.”

She puts her hands on her hips. “I’ve known you forever and you never told me? What’s wrong with you? Got secret skills and all. Not fair.”

“It’s not— I’m not any good, you know.”

“I’m telling Pep,” she says, wicked. “She’ll make you do open mic night. I bet you anything she will.”

He rolls his eyes. “She won’t believe you anyway.”

“We’ll see about that.” She looks around the room. “What’ve you been doing? Get these chairs up, buddy. I wanna get outta here sometime tonight.”

 

###

 

Mason taps in the number to his safe, pulls out the unmarked Rudy envelope.

It’s stupid that he has an envelope for him. Stupid that he’s held onto this stuff so long. Stupid that he needs it anyway.

He’s never opened it, is the thing. Two years ago, Milligan, the P.I., handed it to him two weeks after Mason first contacted him. A couple grand to take the case, more for expenses. Ridiculous expenses, he'd thought at the time.

But Milligan found him, is the thing. Rudy’s inside of this envelope, and Mason couldn’t bring himself to open it. In case it wasn’t him. In case Rudy couldn’t be found because there _is_ no Rudy, in case he slipped into an obscure, lonely death. And Mason couldn't even feel it happen.

That’s all fear talking. He has to be brave.

It’s time.

Mason bends the brass clasp open, flips up the flap, sticks his hand in. Pauses.

No, he’s gotta do this. Maybe Rudy doesn’t wanna be found, and maybe he shouldn’t be taking that privacy away, but he took a lot of things from Mason. Too many things.

There’s pictures. They're glossy.

Jesus Christ.

Seeing him again just knocks the breath out of him. And like this, older, a little different. Grown into his looks, really. Somehow, he'd only grown more handsome.

There’s Rudy at the store, Rudy outside of a bar, Rudy heading into a house, Rudy in a truck. It’s all Rudy in flannel and duck boots, his hair short, a bit of a beard. That’s weird, really. Rudy with a beard. Shit, Mason didn’t even know he could grow real facial hair.

It’s weird, yeah, but a weird that makes him warm, makes his insides twist, that Rudy doesn’t seem to have noticed a camera. There was a time when they were always looking over their shoulders for a sneaky camera lens. They were vigilant. But this Rudy doesn’t seem to need to be paranoid anymore. He seems at peace.

Mason’s about to take that from him.

A long time ago, he wouldn’t’ve dreamt of it, but it’s not water under this bridge. It’s bad blood. Too much of it.

It’s a little thrilling, actually, to get to be the one who’s cruel. Maybe that’s what he was afraid of in the first place. That knowing where Rudy is would turn him into a monster, drag him back to the spotlight Mason never got to leave, watch him die in it.

But he’s also sure that the minute he sees Rudy in person, that’ll all be gone. All of him will be wiped clean and he’ll be twenty years old again, burning and empty with longing.

The last sheet isn’t a photo. It’s an address, a name that’s only familiar for being a mystery. He’s never known Rudy as Jaime Bloom. It was just something he saw for a second on a piece of paper he never should’ve signed. Where Rudy got the name, he’ll probably never tell Mason. Back to old times, then. Always in the dark.

 

###

 

Early afternoon is always a weird time for him.

Maybe Jay’s not fully used to waking up this late, even though he’s been doing it for years. He’s an early riser by nature. Sleeping later than ten makes him foggy until he’s had a few cups of coffee, even if that’s the only way to get more than six hours.

Herbert butts his head against him as he’s sitting on the couch, working on his second cup. Jay scratches the calico obediently, thinking about stepping outside for a cigarette while his coffee’s still hot.

There’s a noise, gravel crunching under tires.

Fucking Pepper. She knows not to bother him until three at the earliest. He doesn’t socialize before then.

She must’ve finally gotten her transmission fixed. Her truck’s hardly loud enough to hear, but the engine turns off before he can analyze it.

It’s quiet a minute, then a car door slams shut. Jay sighs.

There’s a knock on the door.

That’s very weird. Pepper doesn’t knock. They’re past that. She has his spare key.

Another knock.

Frowning, he gets up, yanks open the damned thing.

There’s a ghost on his doorstep.

One hell of a ghost.

Jay shuts the door. Blinks a bit. Tries opening it again.

Oh, mother of God, he’s still asleep, smack dab in the middle of one of his usual nightmares, that’s for sure.

“Um, hi,” the ghost says. His voice is deep and a little rough and far too familiar.

It better not fucking be Mason godfuckingdamn Emory at his door.

“Could I come in? It’s chilly out here.” This is obviously some sort of weird delusion, and he’s just gonna let it happen to him. So he takes a step back, another, letting him come inside.

This is happening. Somehow, he got found.

Not that he wasn’t expecting it eventually. There’s a reason he’s been living under his birth name: he always knew that one day, Mason was gonna Sweet Home Alabama him, and he had to be able to be found to give him that. It’s okay. He’s ready for it. Even though it’s been so long, he’d kind of thought Mason had just gotten around the damn thing some other way. Laws have changed and all of that. They do real marriages now.

“Lemme get a pen,” he mumbles, moving into the kitchen to his pen jar. Gets out a nice one to mark the occasion.

Mason’s staring at him with this weird look, wide eyes and open mouth, pale. Probably how Jay looked when he answered the door, honestly.

“Okay. I don’t need to read anything. It’s not like we have any property.”

Mason frowns a second, and then he gets on Jay’s train. “Oh, no, I don’t have the dissolution papers. I didn’t even— I mean, I s’pose I can get a lawyer draw them up if you want? I don't know how that works now that people just get married.”

Jay plops down on the arm of his couch. “The fuck’re you doing here, then?”

“I need a favor,” he says, rubbing his hands on his jeans. His palms used to get sweaty when he was nervous. Which means he’s about to get angry. “I mean, you owe me, don’t you? Big time, by my score. So just do this one damn thing for me, you son of bitch. I’ll fuck off forever. You can go right back to your shitty little life.”

It’s bullshit. It really is.

And it isn’t.

“I’m sorry. For asking like this. I wouldn’t, it’s just—” Mason breaks off to laugh weirdly. Jay doesn’t want to look at him. Fuck, he’s still goddamn beautiful.

“What’s the favor?”

Mason swallows visibly. “I need you to do a tour.”

“A tour?” Jay repeats. Mason nods. “Of what, my house? You’ve seen it all pretty much—“

“With the band, I mean.”

“Like, what, some kind of reunion thing? Getting the band back together to squeeze the very last cent out of a bunch of people who couldn’t give less of a shit?”

“I’ve had to put out an album every year since the contract was up,” Mason says, head ducked like he does when he’s ashamed, making him look young, his ears big “Every single year. And somehow, they’ve still got me in the hole for a quarter of a million. So no, I’m not asking you because I think it’ll be a fun old time. I need this. I can’t do it without you.”

Jay presses his lips together, thinking, the phrase scraping at a tender part of his mind. _I can’t do it without you_. It’s the first way he learned to say _I love you_. Back when they were codependent as hell, hooked on each other’s loyalty to survive.

He can’t do it. He’s got a life here, a business to run. Can’t just up and leave.

But Mason’s a bit right. He owes him. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and yeah, he shouldn’t have left the way he did. Should’ve left a note or something, but that wouldn’t have made what was to follow any easier. And he wouldn’t change that. One bad week for fourteen years of freedom isn’t a bad trade. But Mason will never understand that.

“If I do it, we’re even? We’re good?”

“Totally,” Mason says. “I’ll fuck off.”

Jay sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If they come for me, you’re gonna help, got it? I made something like a deal to get out, but if they go back on it, you help get me out too. You and me, it’s not over until I get to come back here and live the rest of my life without looking over my shoulder. That fair?”

“Yeah. That’s fair. And I wouldn’t do that, you know. Leave you like that.”

Of course he wouldn't.

“Look, I get it," Jay says, "you’re the better person. I was shitty, okay? It wasn’t— I didn’t do it for fun or to fuck with you or anything. I just had to get away. And I’m sorry for what I did to you. I am. But I would still make that choice.”

Mason looks down, blinks. “Thank you for making that clear, I s’pose.” He takes a breath, shakes his hand through his hair. “Well, I guess, do what you have to here. We gotta start rehearsing soon. I’ve gotta make sure everyone knows you’re in so we can get everything going.”

“It’s a little short notice, isn’t it?”

“Well. My manager, she told me that there’s been some kind of vague plan for a reunion for a while. It’s not exactly coming out of nowhere. I think they’ve mapped out the tour already.”

Jay sighs, realizing finally that he _is_ gonna have to go right back to that hell. “I’m gonna have to shave, aren’t I?”

“Probably,” Mason says, cracking a smile.

The smile falls, and it’s just them, Jay sitting, Mason standing, fourteen years between them.

All of this: this house, his cat, his friends, his bar, his whole goddamn life, is a wall between himself and his old life. He’s killed parts of himself to build it. And now he’s gonna tear it all down. For what? A little less guilt? A second chance?

No, not that. Their story’s over. The last page has been turned, the cover closed. Theirs is a story that sits on a shelf in the back of his mind, and he’s not about to flip through it again. Between them, the second chances have already been given out, _and_ the third chances. They gave it their best shot. Rudy fucked it up. Well, Jay fucked it up. He can’t blame it on the fame, not really.

“I’ll get a hotel for the night. I mean, if you think you can leave in the morning?”

“I guess,” Jays says, the blossoming unreality of his second resurrection splitting his bones. “No, let’s fly out tonight. Rip off the bandaid.”

 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Mason says, climbing into Jay’s truck awkwardly, cat carrier settling on his lap, “it’s just that I don’t know that you won’t run again.”

“You _don’t_ trust me,” Jay tells him, buckling in. “I get it, alright? You think I’m a flight risk. But get this: I can’t leave here until I do certain things, whether I’m going with you or just _going_. One of those things is to beg someone to watch Herbert.”

“You named your cat Herbert?”

Jay looks at him sidelong. “Fuck off.” He leans on the clutch and they’re off.

 

Pepper looks confused leaning against her doorframe. The guilt hits him in a second.

“You’re up early,” she says, letting him in, and then she takes in Mason and Herbert behind him. “Alright, who’s the handsome out-of-towner and why does he have your cat?”

Mason switches the cat carrier to his other hand, extending his right for a handshake. Goddamn Texas boy.

“I may need you to watch Herbert for a little while. Well, a couple months. And I’ll pay Mitch to check on my place every now and then.”

She squints at him. “What the hell is going on?”

“God, y’all are so fucking _loud_ ,” Mitch complains, coming out of the hall with her boy Dusty on her hip. Her eyes go wide. “Why is Mason Emory in our living room?”

Jay rubs the back of his neck, mutters, “ _Shit_ ,” under his breath.

“And who the hell is that?” Pepper asks, eyes jumping between the three of them.

Mitch rolls her eyes, gives Dusty a fingertip to suck on. “You don’t listen to music. It doesn’t matter.” Behind him, Mason tries to be humble or whatever, but he ignores it.

Pepper’s eyes settle on Jay. “Why are you bringing a famous person into my house and up and leaving outta nowhere?”

“He’s, um, an old friend. He needs my help, so. I’ve gotta leave town for a little while.”

“I can’t _believe_ you know _Mason Emory_!” Mitch says, an accusation, really. “And you didn’t even tell me! I thought we were friends, you jerk.”

Pepper cocks her head. “What’s going on, Jay?”

Oh no. It’s coming. Not good.

“Anyway, do you think you can, well, mind the store and watch Herbert for a while? I know it’s a lot to ask, but Sammy, down at the Grill, he’s mentioned that he’d pick up some hours here and there, and I bet you could—“

Pepper puts up a hand and he stops.

“Tell me. Now.”

Jay sighs. “Alright. Well. I used to be something like a musician. A long time ago. With Mason. And he—“

“Wait a second,” Mitch says, turning to Mason. “Didn’t you get your start in some boy band?”

And then she starts cackling. Like a mad woman.

“Is she okay?” Mason leans in to ask.

“Oh my _God_ ,” she says, holding her stomach as she tries to stop laughing. “You were— You—“

And she’s off again.

“Am I s’posed to gather you were like one of those Backstreet Boys?” Pepper asks.

“We started later, but, well, something like that,” Jay says, trying to mince around it, but it’s no use. Pepper cracks up.

Now that’s just hurtful. There’s no reason for them to both be laughing so hard.

Jay turns to look at Mason, gives him a withering look. “This is all your fault, you know. Up until this point, I wasn’t a punchline.”

“Oh, God, I gotta check this out,” Mitch says, getting out her phone.

She’s going to find pictures. What a nightmare.

Pepper leans into her sister, looking at her phone screen, grinning. “Oh, this is so great. You’re never gonna live this down, you know.” She looks at him with such perfect glee he nearly feels guilty for hating them both. Just a little bit.

When they find a picture, Mitch crows, and Pepper has to take Dusty from her.

“Your pants are so _tight_!” she says somewhere in the middle, "and your _hair!_ " and Jay turns to Pepper. 

“Can you do it?”

“ _Yes_ , I’ll watch Herbert. As long as he gets along with Dusty, or I might have to pawn him off on Jerry. But seriously, what’s up?”

In short terms, he explains it to her, avoiding the weird bits, like the whole mess with him and Mason. That’s not something _anyone’s_ ever gonna hear about. It’s a difficult line to toe, though, sounding like it’s not really something he wants to do without making it sound like he’s essentially being blackmailed. He is, really, but it’s some kind of fair.

“I owe him a big one,” is what he ends up with.

There’s not much for it, honestly. He doesn’t really have excuses, he just has this debt. Maybe leaving was something he had to do, but the sex tape was probably a bit too personal, looking at it from the outside. But he wasn’t really thinking all that straight then.

When he and Mason walk out into the chill sunlight, he doesn’t feel any lighter.

“It’s a long drive to the airport,” Jay says.

“You don’t have to…I mean, we can leave tomorrow. That would be fine.”

Jay shrugs. “I don’t do long goodbyes.”

Mason snorts, bitter enough that the milked coffee in Jay’s stomach curdles.

 

In Mason’s compact rental, it’s a long fucking drive to the airport in Boise.

The car reeks of new car smell. He’d forgotten that it was even a thing, but it’s suffocating.

That, and he’s in an enclosed space with the only person who’s ever haunted him. It’s weird.

Mason looks different and the same. His jaw has the same straight cut to it, the hint of dark stubble that he never grows into actual facial hair. His profile is nauseatingly familiar, but just a bit off. Age, probably. Stress. Probably not drugs. Mason’s never had those urges.

There are apologies he could lay out in front of them, hold each one out in his hands, a small, dying bird. Mason wouldn’t take them, though. It’s too late for that. Now it’s just history told through the tabloid pages, the real story buried inside of them. Where Rudy was cruel and a liar and a breaker of promises, where he destroyed them both. Their future, their present, their dreams, their plans. Their happily ever after. He ruined their forever. There’s no coming back from that. There’s no forgiveness. He’s the villain in this plot, and he’ll never be anything else.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been on the road together,” Mason says, this weird edge to it, like the silence was crushing him too.

“Yep.”

That’s it.

Really, Jay doesn’t want to reminisce, and Mason, if he thought about it, doesn’t either. They don’t have memories that don’t have sharp edges.

Mason turns the radio on. Some electronic song finishes, and then there’s a strum or two of a guitar before Mason turns the radio off again.

Silence, then. That’s fine.

 

###

 

At the airport, Mason hands him a scarf, a beanie and a pair of big sunglasses. They’ve got first class tickets on the first flight to L.A., and Jay is a little bit nostalgic for the private jets they became accustomed to, the last kind of plane he’d been on. The privacy was nice. They’d made some mile-high memories, that’s for sure.

It’s good that they’re not on a private plane. Good that things are different.

But sitting in the airport, waiting, it’s painfully obvious that they don’t have anything to talk about. Their silence is made weird by the chatting people around them.

“So you’re still writing music?” Jay tries lamely.

“Some of it. They don’t like all my songs, so they have someone write for me. Jack’s a nice guy, though.” _Just how nice?_ Jay finds himself wondering, but shuts it down. It’s stupid.

Jay clears his throat. “Uh, where do you live now?”

“Here and there.” That’s it.

“Yeah, great,” he says, tapping his fingers against his thigh. “How’re the other guys?”

“Fine.”

Nothing more.

“Come on,” Jay says. “Give me _something_.”

Mason picks at his nails a moment, then says, “Jaz got married, he’s a family man now, if you can believe it. House husband. Lucas has been judging competition shows here lately. I heard he was gonna have his own, but maybe not now. Not for a while.”

Jay hums, nodding. “What are we gonna be looking at? How much press before the tour?”

“I don’t know for sure.” Mason looks down. “Probably more for you, all things considered. But you’re good at that stuff.”

Jay clenches his jaw.

“You’re always acting like you don’t love being the center of attention. You ate that shit up.”

“Yeah? Why would I give it up then? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Arms stiff across his chest, Mason shrugs.

“Come on, they’re about to start boarding,” Jay says, and he puts it all his anger away into a little box that he swallows down.

 

Buckling his seatbelt, he stops, smirks.

“You still hate flying,” Jay says, later, when they’re in the air, watching Mason grit his teeth and stare out the window with determination. It always terrified him, but he always took the window seat anyway.

Mason looks at him a moment, grim, then turns back without saying anything.

“Do you even have a book?”

“I must’ve lost it.”

It’s gonna be a long flight if he’s not distracted. Mason always gets mean when he’s scared.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Distraction it is.

“So, are you seeing anyone?” Jay asks, biting the bullet.

Mason squints at him. “Are you actually trying to hit on me right now?”

“A quickie in the lavatory would calm you down.” Jay has no intent on following through, he’s just trying to confuse him enough that he’ll stop thinking about how they’re in a metal box thousands of feet above the ground.

Mason’s mouth twists up. Disgust. Not surprising. As Rudy, Mason had him contrived as promiscuous to a fault. That’s gonna hurt if he latches onto that.

“No, but really, tell me, do you have some boring, sweater-wearing boyfriend waiting at home for you with your three dogs?”

“You don’t get to know about that part of my life,” he says, closed off.

Jay prods, can’t stop himself. “You’re not rubbing him in my face. Does that mean you’re single?”

“Oh, course not,” Mason says, giving him a salty smile. “I’ve been dating Gia Solani for the past three years.” He says that like Jay’s never gone to the store and caught a tabloid headline.

“You know what I mean.”

Mason looks out the window, clenching and unclenching his jaw. “You don’t get to do this. My life after you is none of your business. I’m not wrong for seeing other people.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Jay says quickly. “I was just hoping— I dunno. That you were…happy.”

“Oh, so you don’t have to feel guilty?”

He’s seen Mason deck someone, and this is what that feels like.

If Mason was with someone, he’d’ve been fine then. That’s what that means. That he got over it, that they’d been wrong for each other anyway, that they didn’t fill in the holes in each other, that it wasn’t something worth the fights that had almost wrecked them before. That he’d only fucked himself up with this.

Nothing compares. That’s just the truth of it.

“I haven’t managed to date anyone for more than three months,” Jay tells him. “I didn’t want that for you.”

“You wanted me to move on?”

Jay nods. “Why wouldn’t I? Why would I want you to be miserable? I wanted you to find someone good.”

“What would be the point? Someone would find out, and then I’d be fucked. I wasn’t about to give anyone any blackmail. My career wouldn’t survive being outed. You were the only one talented enough to be able to keep your head above water on your own merit.”

“That’s not true,” Jay says, intent.

“It was always true. There was a reason you were always in the front.”

“Not a good one. Just money.”

Mason shakes his head. “Stop kidding yourself. You would’ve made it. We would’ve finished out our contract and you would’ve gone solo and really been something. You could’ve had it all, all by yourself.”

“I didn’t want it all by myself. I didn’t want it without you,” he says, regretting the words as soon as they’ve left him. Jesus, they’ve let this conversation get out of hand. This is not a confrontation they need to be having in a public place. This is not a confrontation they should be having at all. It feels like hope, like there’s some chance Jay can unfuck all of this, and there’s not. He wouldn’t deserve the chance.

“Do you really think I did?”

It’s not fair, but he remembers the old hurt, remembers promising to put it behind them to build themselves back together, but the scar from it twinges beneath his ribs.

“Didn’t you?” Jay says, wincing. He should’ve stopped himself.

Mason leans away from him. “It’s always gonna come back to this, isn’t it?”

Jay doesn’t answer, doesn’t move.

“Then let’s stop fucking around and call it. I’ll get the papers from my lawyer, and we’ll do this like we don’t remember each other. We stay out of each other’s way. We get it done, we go back to our lives, and it’s like all of this never happened.”

“Fine. Good.” Jay shrugs and sinks back into his chair. “I have a book, so. Enjoy your flight.”

 

“Lucas and Jaz are waiting for us at my place,” Mason says, looking up from his phone as they wait in the baggage claim of the Nashville International Airport.

“Oh,” Jay says, trying to catch up. “I thought you lived in Texas.”

“I have an apartment a little outside the city. They like me to record here, so it’s easier to just have a place nearby when I’m working.”

Jay nods, watching the track like that’ll make it start moving.

“The ranch, it’s kinda— I don’t go there much, so the three of us use it like a vacation house. I have a guy who looks after the cattle and horses for me.”

“Have you considered that paying someone to look after a property you don’t live in _and_ paying rent somewhere might be contributing to your financial situation?”

“I don’t pay for the apartment,” Mason tells him. “They do.”

“Even worse, then. You know they’ll use it as an excuse to leech it from you somewhere else.”

“I don’t have a choice. It’s…it’s part of my publicity package. We both know the second I become completely irrelevant, I’m gone.”

Jay nods, giving in to end the back and forth. Chews his lip.

There’s a way he could apologize without having to say it. All he has to do is be his best. Remember how to work the spotlight. It’s something he can do. It’s gonna be like riding a bike. Just gotta shake the dust off the parts of him that are Rudy.

Everything will be even. A couple months of his life, and it’ll be like none of this ever happened. When he goes to sleep, he won’t see Mason in his dreams. That last shackle of his old life will be gone.

The only way out is through.


	3. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyyyyy to the three people who checked back here, sorry about the wait. wrote the next chapter, realized it was actually the chapter /after/ the next chapter, and it's all been a mess lmao but here's a thing

Rudy is born in a hotel room on the Lower East side.

“Your new name is Rudy Burns,” says a man he now knows to be called Ray, who holds the keys to his future kingdom in his hands. “You’ve never been called anything else in your life. You don’t know anyone. You don’t have a family. But if you do exactly as I say, you can have anything you want. Do you understand?”

Rudy, because that’s his name now, nods. “What do you want me to do?”

Ray sets a shopping bag on the bed. “Get dressed. You’re gonna be meeting some people this afternoon. It’s very important that you impress these people. You’re a performer. One day, you’ll have to stand on a stage in front of ten thousand people and keep their attention. Consider this practice for that.”

“What happens after that?”

Ray studies him for a moment, and Rudy meets the examination straight-backed and unwavering.

Raised on Queen, he grew up wanting to be the next Freddie Mercury. Everything he’s done, mowing lawns to pay for piano lessons, voice lessons, working his ass off to graduate early, leaving his father's house to be in the city, being cold, hungry, sleeping on his sister’s couch, and now he has a shot. So he’s gonna make sure it pays off, and he’s sure gonna do what it takes not to waste it.

“After that, you _continue_ to do what I say, and if you’re very lucky, then you’re going to get a band. After a couple years, you’ll be able to go solo. How does that sound?”

Rudy hums. “Why do I have to have a band?”

“Because that’s what’s big right now. The millennium is all about boy bands. That’s the easiest way to sell you to an audience. But it’s just a couple years. You’ll be done with it before you can drink.”

“Who are the rest of them?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

 

###

 

Mason’s agent doesn’t call often. A couple times a month, he’ll contact Mason for an audition. Much more rarely, a job.

He’s done two television commercials and one radio spot. It doesn’t come anywhere close to paying the bills, but he’s “building his brand” or whatever Mr. Walker, his agent, says. So, auditions. A lot of them. He’s been trying to break into Disney programming, but he came into it too late. A few years ago, he could’ve made it to the Mickey Mouse Club while it was still going, but at eighteen, he’s just too old for that kind of programming anyway.

“I’ve got you another audition,” Mr. Walker says, and Mason stays positive. “It’s a music thing. You show up, you sing a song, and if they like your face, you might make call-backs.”

“I can do that,” he says, then takes down the time and address.

 

Mason’s not the best at auditions. He gets intimidated. Even though he likes to perform, he gets nervous if it’s for too many people or people who seem to hold his future in their hands. But he’s good at managing it. Mostly.

It’s three men and one woman. They’re not expecting him to have his guitar on him, he can see that much. It’s for a pop thing, that’s what Mr. Walker told him, so he’s doing a song from the radio that he didn’t hate too much, some Matchbox 20 song.

It’s very weird, performing for people who refuse to react.

They stay stone-faced until they cut him off after the first chorus.

“That’s enough, thank you,” one of the men says, and Mason thanks them, leaves. Like usual, he doesn’t expect anything to come of it, and that’s where things take a turn for the pleasantly surprising.

 

The next audition is for a camera. The song was faxed to Mr. Walker as sheet music for piano and voice, which his mama played for him until it was his best, but they have the instrumental track ready for him. It’s poppy, and he’s not sure if he’s heard it before.

There’s one warm-up take before the real one. The guy behind the camera tells him _that’s it_ when he’s done.

When he asks, Mr. Walker tells him that it’s some kind of nation-wide audition. The video will be shown with others to a group of producers and things will progress from there. Meaning, really, that he’s out. It’s on to the next commercial.

 

Except the next time Mr. Walker talks to him, it’s in his living room. Mason’s mom brings him an iced tea and sets it on a ceramic coaster on the coffee table.

“Sit down, baby,” she says, then takes a seat in one of their floral-printed armchairs.

Mr. Walker leans forward in his seat, elbows on his knees. “You’ve gotten through to the next stage of the audition process. The next audition is going to be in California.” He lets that sit for a second, and Mason thinks about the days he spends working on their ranch, about paying for this, when all he makes is a bit here and there for helping their neighbors place fence posts and the like. He'd work for real, but his mom can't take care of the property or the cows, so it falls to him.

“I don’t think I can afford California,” Mason says at last. His mom shushes him, pats his arm.

“No, no, that’s for me to worry about,” she says. “So when does he need to leave?”

Mr. Walker smiles. “It’ll be this coming week, Friday. If things go well, it’ll be a few days, so pack for it. Anyway, just wanted to tell you the good news myself. There’s only fifty other boys at this stage. You could have a real shot here.”

That’s not comforting, really. Neither is the likely cost of that plane ticket. Which he will pay back to his mother as soon as he can. He’ll pick up some work in town before he goes and after he gets back and he’ll take care of it. That’s not a question.

“This is great! I’m so proud of you,” his mom says, and it’s not like he can say no, is the thing. She believes in him, so he has to follow through. He owes her his absolute best.

“Guess I’m goin’ to California.”

 

It’s not too much to handle, but Mason has a certain…reluctance to go through the whole thing alone. For one, he’s never been on an airplane. There’s something very unnatural about a metal box hurtling through the sky miles above the ground.

But he does it because he has to. Because he needs to be something his mom can be proud of. She needs one good thing to work out. Just one. And he’s the only thing he can control.

Imagining it, he sees palm trees and sun and the beach.

What he gets is a shuttle from the airport to the hotel he’ll be staying at. Tomorrow morning, very early, he’ll be going down to the hotel’s conference room for his audition, but he feels wrung out from the plane, from trying not to yell for hours. So he lays down, and very still, Mason sleeps.

 

All fifty of them are in the conference room.

Mason pins a piece of paper to his chest that gives him a number instead of a name. The room is filled with the sound of vocal warm-ups, surprisingly pleasant in the high-ceilinged room, boys doing weird buzzing exercises, the works.

The thing is, Mason hasn’t been in a choir since elementary school, when everyone dropped out of the church choir. Too gay. What Mason has is a lifetime of singing in the shower or along to the radio in his truck, and it never mattered until this moment right here. Where he realizes that he absolutely should’ve stayed at home.

No way in Hell is he gonna be able to beat these guys if it comes down to singing. He can carry a tune but that’s not the same thing. He’s heard voices that give him chills, but he’s never been that way.

“You look how I feel,” a guy says. His paper calls him “41”. About his age, nice face, but just on the short side.

“Yeah, I’m scared shitless,” Mason admits. “This is…way outta my league.”

41 grins nervously. “Honestly, I think they just mixed me up with someone with talent.” He holds out a hand to shake. “Luke.” Mason shakes, tells him his name, and they sit side by side, waiting for something to happen.

When they start calling people, it’s in groups of ten. Luke is in the first group, which figures since this whole trip is an exercise in how uncomfortable he can be. Mason’s in the second group, though, so he's not stuck in the conference room for long.

They’re sorted into voice parts, given the same song he sang for the last audition, and Mason does his best to remember how to read music.

First time through, they all just sing their parts. Second time through, the man leading them points at them when he wants them to drop out of the ensemble, then again to rejoin. After, two of them are sent away. Another run-through is four more gone. Mason assumes he’s in the right group because he’s still singing, but it’s still a toss-up at this point.

There’s a short break and then more boys come in, Luke among them. Mason gives him a small, friendly wave.

Again, they sing. They fall out, come back in. More are told to leave, then more, and Mason’s really just confused at this point that he’s still here.

More come in, another five to match them. Same routine, numbers dwindling, and it’s gotta be a weird joke, that Mason’s still here. Barely.

When they get down to just three of them, it’s Mason, Luke and a black boy with the prettiest face Mason's ever seen. Their conductor leaves the room, and it’s just the three of them.

None of them move or speak. Like if they do, they’ll suddenly be disqualified. And Mason may think Luke is a nice guy, but he’s gotta be the last one standing. If he’s made it this far, he’s gotta finish. Gotta get to the end of the race.

Their conductor comes back with a man in a nice suit, and they sing again. All three of them, all the way through. Probably the most annoying song on the planet by this point, if he’s being honest.

The suit says nothing when they finish. He walks around, looks at them, scrutinizes them. They don’t move. Mason’s breath sounds so loud to his ears.

“I can work with this,” the suit says at long last, and then he leaves.

“You’ll be meeting in Suite 890 at eight A.M. tomorrow,” their conductor says. “Don’t be late.”

 

###

 

Somehow, a bottle of champagne ends up in Rudy’s hand. It was probably intended for mimosas (which is a thing he learned about last week, that rich people come up with all sorts of names to disguise drinking before noon) but now Rudy is nervous. Something he’s learned since Ray brought him to California is that there’s always someone to put a drink in his hand, and none of them know or care that he’s seventeen.

He has a right to be nervous. He’s been promised a crown, but there’s always the chance that one of these guys is better than him. That they’ll take his crown away and give it to someone else, and he can’t have that. It makes him want to run around in circles screaming that he could lose everything and he has no control over any of it.

So he’s taking the edge off. He’s going to be calm.

At 7:58, there’s a knock on the door of the suite, and Rudy swallows. His throat burns down to his belly.

It’s three boys, a little older than him. Ray had told him it would be three or four others, depending on their auditions.

Rudy’s already sizing them up.

The one he won’t have to worry about is just a little short. Cute, in a cheek-pinching kind of way, but with the rest of them to compare, he doesn’t have the look of a leader.

The other two are tricky. No sudden decisions. But he’s heard Ray talking about how they’re all going to be typed, fit into neat little boxes for the public’s consumption. So if it’s a stereotype game, the black boy is going to get screwed. He could be the most talented of all of them, but it won’t matter. Rudy’s lucky enough to look white.

Which leaves the other one. _This_ is his competition. Tall, broad shoulders, pretty eyes…he’s hot, and that makes him a threat. Rudy watches his eyes shift around the room to Ray, to their songwriter, to their vocal coach, to the assistants, and, finally, to Rudy. Which only confirms that he’s the threat, because yes, his eyes are pretty, but more importantly, they’re focused, sharp. They’re figuring him out. Pretty Eyes with the cowboy boots is gonna give him a run for his money.

Ray takes care of introductions, so Rudy meets them as Lucas, Jasper and Mason. And then he meets them as the colorful packaging they’ll be sold in. The funny one. The cool one. The gentleman. And Rudy.

They’re a band now. That’s what being in this lush suite means. They are in a boy band.

Rudy feels with strange clarity that his dream is so many miles away, he may never reach it. Not when he's the only thing he can control.

Which is why it's so goddamn important that he's exactly what he needs to be. He has maybe three years of this before he can announce his solo career. Until then, he has to be perfect. He needs to stay at his best. And these boys need to know that he’s _the best_. Luckily, they're about to find out.

 

###

 

Mason makes it to Suite 890 half an hour early. Jasper is already there. Luke arrives within two minutes of him.

“Does anyone know what all this is for?” Mason asks them, voice low.

Jasper snorts. “Fuck if I know. We’ll find out in a minute.”

“Anyone else have a weird feeling about this?” Luke asks.

Mason and Jasper both nod after a second.

“At least we’re not alone.”

It’s quiet a second, their nerves building until the anxiety settles over them like a shroud.

Mason raises his fist to the door. “Everybody ready?”

“Go for it,” Luke says as Jasper nods.

Mason knocks.

A sort of nerdy guy lets them in, and Mason takes stock.

Nice little living room, gold everywhere. Picture frames, bed clothes, lamps, the rings and watches and tans of the men in the room. The man in charge checks his Rolex, and the little face he makes says they’re late even though they’re twenty minutes early. There’s their conductor from yesterday, another man, thin and oddly wispy, and then there’s a boy his age sitting in an armchair with his expensive sneakers on the coffee table, and suddenly all of this drops through the floor with his stomach.

This boy is going to ruin everything. He’s every dropped gaze when Mason's realized he was staring at another boy's mouth, his sweaty palms through every football season, the last night he had a best friend, their words caught in each other's mouths. He’s beautiful, and the thing that’s going to ruin everything is that Mason sees him and aches. His mouth goes dry as they size each other up, and Mason holds it just long enough to show he’s not intimidated. His hands are cold, but the rest of him is burning and he barely catches more than the boy’s name over the screaming inferno in his mind.

The source of his final reckoning is named _Rudy_. 

Rudy, with the casual apathy in his eyes. Rudy, with the mesmerizing bulge in his jaw as he grits his teeth.

He never wants to find out how that name tastes. 

If he has to work with this boy, he’s gonna slip up. Say something, do something, and everything he’s carefully tucked away will spill into the light. Which is a damn shame because he _has_ to be here. He has to survive this, whatever it is. Because if they’re here, at some point, money will come into the picture, and he needs this to pay off. His mama will never have to worry about money again.

“…So with you, we’ll be introducing our label’s first boy band—“

Mason chokes.

He’s gonna be in a _what?_

 

Half an hour later, Mason signs a piece of paper. He doesn’t think until after the fact that it might have been a good idea to have his agent or someone with him for it. The boss man, Ray, tells him he’ll get $25,000 just for signing, and Mason kind of tunes out the rest because that’s enough to pay off what his mama owes to the bank, plus a new transmission for the truck.

“I can’t believe we just signed away the next five years of our lives,” Luke says, catching up to him as they head to the car that’s supposed to take them to the studio. Mason stops in his tracks.

“Wait, five years?”

Luke laughs. “Yeah, man. Where were you?”

Mason winces. "I don't think my brain was working." He doesn't say that's because he was shivering under the weight of Rudy's gaze.

“Well, greatest hits is we do one album and one tour a year, or we’ll be going back on the contract. Also, there’s something about morality or something? I think it means that if we get caught in a drug-fueled orgy, we’re toast.” Luke claps him on the shoulder. “I think you’ll be fine.”

His stomach goes cold. “Drugs and orgies? That’s all?”

“Well, no,” Luke says, “there’s a whole thing about public profanity, intoxication, I think some other shit but I don’t remember. Just be your nice cowboy self, buddy.”

Oh, he’ll be willing to bet that there’s something about homosexuality in there, and that’s fine, he doesn’t act on anything anyway, but if he _did_ , then he needs to know if he’ll be fired. If someone might catch getting stuck on the line of Rudy's neck and that'll be the end for him.

But he can’t ask. Not now. Maybe he’ll get the chance to check out the contract again.

Rudy doesn’t ride with them to the studio. He rides with the boss man. Mason watches him get into a car and almost follows before Luke steers him towards their own vehicle.

“That Rudy guy didn’t audition with us,” Mason says quietly to Luke and Jasper in the backseat, “and he’s not with us now.”

It’s silent for a moment, then Jasper says, “That’s cause we’re his back-up.”

“Yeah, but they were saying we’re a _band_ ,” Luke says.

Jasper shakes his head. “Justin Timberlake is a fifth of NSYNC, but everyone knows who’s really carrying them.”

“He looked like he was pretty tight with everyone in that room,” Mason adds.

“So, what?” Luke asks. “We’re just gonna be around to be the springboard for some spoiled pretty boy? Fuck that.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.” Jasper smiles, rising to the challenge. “I’m thinking we show them we’re not playing second fiddle. I bet we’ve all got better pipes. He’s probably never had to work for anything in his life.”

“So let’s show him up.”

The thing in Mason that kept him safe, that his reaction to the slow murder of an untouchable boy is to try to beat him, turn his obsession into competition, it all comes out in full force. That's how he's going to survive this. He's just going to have to be better than Rudy.

 

They arrive at the studio second; Rudy is already in the room they’re taken to. He’s stretching, warming up, and that’s just a cheap shot as far as Mason’s concerned. Not that he has any idea, probably. But he’s gorgeous and showing it off and there’s no reason for it.

“You boys might wanna warm up,” Rudy says, and that’s when Mason knows that yeah, they’re absolutely just the supporting cast here, and Rudy is well aware. And he's damn smug about it.

But Mason isn’t really sure what “warming up” entails, and when he looks at Luke, it’s clear that neither does he. They both look to Jasper, who rolls his eyes, takes a breath, and starts singing something like a scale, but with jumps in it. It takes a second for him and Luke to get the pattern, but they hop in as well as they can, stumbling a little as they guess the pitches wrong.

Rudy’s on the floor, fingertips curled around the toes of his sneakers, and he’s not even pretending he’s not watching them.

He looks almost…disappointed. Something about that rubs Mason the wrong way. The competitive part of him, the part he tries to keep down, rears its head. And he’s gonna show this prick that they’re _damn_ good, and worthy of being here.

After a minute or so, Rudy hops up onto one of the stools in the center of the room. There’s microphones and headphones, but they’re not right up against where they’d be sitting. The wall opposite the arc of seats has a giant window to the next room, and behind it, Ray is talking to one of the other guys.

The door opens and they stop warming up abruptly. It’s the man from yesterday, the one who led the auditions.

“Hello, gentlemen,” he says, and he seems nicer now that they’re here. “Let’s try a scale in thirds as a group. C major.”

Mason lets them start before jumping in, then realizes it’s the same pattern he’d been doing with Luke and Jasper. That’s easy enough. But picking out Rudy’s voice is difficult. Really, he can barely pick out Luke standing right nest to him. They’re all blended together a little too well, or, judging by the voice guy’s pleased smile, maybe exactly as well as they should.

“Alright, let’s jump in. I’ve got sheet music for everyone,” he says, turning around to pick up a short stack of black folders.

When he passes them out, Mason notices that their names are on them. A quick glance tells him that they only have their own parts. Mason’s is lower than Luke and Jasper’s, which is good, he’s more comfortable lower, but the fact that it’s independent makes him _very_ nervous.

Voice guy, whose name he’s going to learn before he leaves, hums a set of three pitches and starts counting them in. It takes Mason half a second to realize he’s supposed to focus on the bottom pitch, but he nails it when they all come in. It’s about the only pitch he nails, considering that he’s completely guessing at the rest of the intervals, and badly, going by how it sounds together.

Their conductor cuts them off and zeroes in on Mason.

“You can’t read sheet music, can you?”

There’s no point in lying, so Mason says, “I’m picking it back up, but it’s been a good while since I had to.”

“At least your ears are decent.” He takes a deep breath. “Alright. I’ll go through it once, and then we’ll do it together.”

When he starts singing, it’s not the real words, it’s syllables. After a second, Mason remembers _The Sound of Music_ and figures out there’s some kind of music language going on, cause all the _mi_ ’s sound the same, the _do_ ’s, and he gets it. When the man starts over, Mason follows with the written words, but he’s confident he’s got it. The melody’s not complicated or surprising, really, and it’s not too far off from what he’d been singing before. Still, he feels Rudy’s eyes on him the whole time, and his palms start to sweat.

The conductor breathes a sigh of relief when they finish the first chorus and cut off. “Alright, your homework is to learn how to sightread, but that was correct. Let’s try it all together.”

So they do. From the top.

Mason is doing his damnedest not to fuck up, so it’s a moment before he hears Rudy’s voice. Jasper and Luke are glancing over at him, too, so maybe it’s just that he’s singing out now, but God _damn_.

Rudy’s voice is a gift. There’s no other way to say it. It’s clear, liquid, the sweetness of cool, cool water after a long day under the Texas sun. It floats above the rest of them, so smooth, and Mason realizes he’d been planning on fighting a losing battle. Rudy has exactly the talent to be here, more than it, really. Rudy doesn’t need them at all. A voice like that, he doesn’t need anything distracting from what he can do.

And yet he’s here. Which means that somehow, he needs them. Mason would figure that poor little rich boy could’ve launched his career on his own, but he didn’t. He’s here with them. For exactly as long as he needs them, Mason’s sure of that.

So they _are_ here for him. And doesn’t that just smart.

They finish the song, and then there’s repetitions and notes and Mason’s head is spinning.

“Is someone bringing us lunch?” Rudy asks, and there’s something sharp and dry to it that sets Mason’s teeth to grinding. Entitlement. Mason went to school with rich kids, and he knows the way they hold out their smooth palms for someone to set the whole world into. It’s ugly, and they’re always so, so pretty.

And the thing is, Rudy doesn’t address the question to their conductor. He’s looking through the glass, at who’s really in charge. It’s dismissive and cold.

Petty, Mason decides he's gonna learn this man’s name, this man who’s standing here, derailed, just trying to do his job.

 

###

 

Rudy’s tired, uneasy.

Ray told him, _Do not become friends with them. They need to be afraid of you_.

So he’s trying to intimidate them. By being aloof and excellent. And it’s working, he can see that. They’re wary when they look at him.

It’s very, very cold.

Ray spoke of this in terms of years, and he’s supposed to keep this up for that long? Rudy knows people well enough to know that before long, fear will turn into hate. He can’t deal with that. A couple years of three of the four people he’s closest to hating him? That’s not an option.

But they’re still his competition. He can’t get close to them, not until he’s sure they won’t use his friendship against him. Ray warned him about that, and he’s right. Until he knows them, they’ll continue to be threats, but he can’t know them until it’s safe…it’s not a good predicament. But Rudy’s smart, and in another life, he graduated just before his seventeenth birthday, sitting on three consecutive wins over the rest of the state for choral solos, so he’s smart enough to figure this out.

Arguably, people aren’t his strong suit. He can work with them and around them, but he’s never had too many actual friends. His family is…he did the best he knew, leaving his father’s house. He’d been the last child, and his father had been working himself to death to provide, so as soon as he could, he left, removed himself as a burden, paid his sister and her husband rent to sleep on their couch, but the were older and he was only a roommate to them. Really, his father was the only one he’d ever been close to, the only person he’d seen as a true friend. At night, his father would come home from his second shift to find him finishing his homework, dinner kept warm in the oven, and they’d talk about everything they could. He'd never felt more safe. It was simple and…

And he misses his father, is really what it is. Because he could talk to him about all of this, and he’d know what to do.

Rudy picks up the hotel room phone, dials his father’s number.

_“We’re sorry, calls outside of this hotel are not possible at this time._ ”

Rudy frowns and sets the phone back down. That’s not something he anticipated. But he has change, he’s sure, and there’s a payphone bank in the lobby. He’ll just call from there.

The elevator stops a couple floors down. The doors open. It’s one of them, the one with the nice eyes, and Rudy stands straighter.

The boy, his name is Mason, isn’t friendly, just steps into the elevator without a word.

As the doors close, Rudy stares straight ahead. The shiny gold plating on the doors warps and dulls his reflection.

“Does your phone work?” Rudy finds himself asking. Stupid.

Mason flinches, then, after a moment, “No. I’ve been using the lobby phones.”

Rudy nods.

“Who’re you calling?”

“I’m not,” Rudy says, thinking quickly. “Just getting cigarettes.”

“Room service won’t bring them?” He sounds more curious than anything else, and honestly, Rudy didn’t think of that. But then, he doesn’t smoke either.

The doors open again and he says, “Ray doesn’t like me to be doing it.”

“You gonna get in trouble?”

Rudy shrugs, not sure.

“I’ll get ‘em then, don’t worry about it. Meet you outside, alright?”

Confounded, Rudy watches him head to the little shop for a moment, then continues outside. This is weird. It’s very weird.

Rudy doesn’t trust him for a minute, of course. He’s not stupid. This is probably some attempt to get at him, learn his weaknesses. He’s ready.

Mason comes out a minute later, opening a pack of cigarettes. He pulls out one for himself, passes the pack and a book of matches.

Looks like Rudy’s gonna have to learn how to smoke.

It’s a struggle to get one lit. Rudy’s swimming in self-consciousness, but Mason looks a little awkward, too.

“So what’s your deal?” Mason asks, and Rudy coughs.

“What do you mean?”

Mason waves a circle in the air with the hand holding his cigarette. “All this. You got a rich daddy to buy you producers and back-up singers? How do you fit in?”

“Right place, right time,” Rudy says, shrugging. He hates the idea of assuming a background of privilege. Ray wants him to, says the rich boy backstory is sexier, but Rudy’s worked for this shit. “I’m good at what I do.”

“Never said otherwise.” Mason holds up his hands, placating. “But don’t think the three of us don’t know this is about you. We’re not stupid. And don’t think we’re gonna let ourselves be used.”

Rudy nods, considering. “Alright. But when we take off, don’t delude yourself about who made it happen.”

Mason snorts. “You’re goddamn unbelievable, you know that?”

“Yeah? This is a free ride for you. You never could’ve gotten this opportunity if it weren’t for me. Play your cards right, and you could have a career after this, and it won’t be for your charms, farm boy.”

“Fuck you,” Mason spits, tossing his cigarette into the road.

“There’s no point in being angry. It’s in everyone’s best interests to work together.”

“Where d’you get off talking this much bullshit?”

Rudy shrugs. “I’m playing the long game. Really puts things into perspective. I recommend you do the same.”

“My perspective’s just fine, thanks. Go fuck yourself.”

Rudy doesn’t justify that with a response, just lets him go back inside. Waits a moment before he sits down on the curb, his legs getting a little weak. There’s nothing to do but sit and think and finish his cigarette, but his stomach is rolling.

He’s an asshole. That’s who he is now. It’s who he has to be, sure, but it really blows. Yeah, he’s using these other guys and if he doesn’t, he’s screwed. That’s just how it is. He’s just going to be alone. The only person who talks to him at all really is Ray, and he’s not deluding himself there. He’s only here at all because Ray thinks he’s useful, that Rudy can make him money. Ray is not his friend. He’s just someone Rudy has to keep happy.

When he goes back inside, he’s making his way for the payphone bank when he hears his name called.

Ray waves him over to him, by the elevators. “You weren’t in your room,” he says, and Rudy ducks his head. Ray hits the call button for the elevator.

“I just wanted some air.”

“You smell like cigarettes,” Rays tells him. “Just smoke off the balcony next time. Don’t make me go looking for you again. I need to be able to trust you.”

“I’ll stay in the room.”

“Good.” The elevator doors open. “You can call room service for whatever you need.”

“I will.”

Ray squeezes his shoulder.

The elevator hums as they go upwards.

“I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow. We have a lot to go over.”

Rudy nods.

The doors open again and they stop one door before Rudy’s room. Ray lets them in.

“Have a seat. I had some champagne sent up. First things first, we should celebrate today. I have a good feeling about this project.”

Rudy sits in a chair, and Ray stops at the little table next to the mini bar. Pulls the bottle out of the ice, pops it open, pours them glasses.

“You did great today,” Ray says as he passes Rudy his glass. “The demo we recorded is on its way to the higher ups, and they’re gonna love it. I know a hit when I hear one. We couldn’t do it without you.”

“Just doing my best.” Rudy gulps down the champagne, nervous. It feels like he’s about to get chewed out.

“I was really surprised by how well the other boys did today. It’s a solid group. They’re all very talented. Especially that Mason. He could use some cleaning up, but he’s got a certain something.”

Rudy finishes his champagne, nerves growing.

“Help yourself,” Ray says, nodding at his empty glass, and Rudy gets up. “Now, tomorrow, we’re gonna do your first promo shoot. It’s gonna set the tone for how we frame the band to the public, how we portray the line-up. Now, I know I’ve promised you things, but I wasn’t playing with the full board then. I’m just looking for the best guy for the job.”

“That’s me,” Rudy says quickly.

“I’ve thought so too. I mean, you’ve got the talent and the looks, but you seem…inexperienced, maybe.”

“What do you mean?”

Ray sighs, beleaguered. “You’re supposed to be the bad boy, and a big part of that is sex appeal. You’ve gotta seduce the audience. I’m just not sure you can do that. I might need to look at someone a little older.”

“No, no, I can do it. I can be sexy. That’s not a problem for me.”

“I just don’t know how believable you can be. You don’t look comfortable in your body. You don’t even look comfortable saying the word _sexy_. You need to be able to look at a crowd and convince them you want to fuck them. Can you do that? Can you make someone think you want to fuck them?”

Rudy shrugs. “I can do that, no problem.”

“Alright. Then prove it.”

Rudy sits still for a moment, then downs his glass. He takes it and Ray’s to pour another, thinking. His gut says to do this directly, to put an end to this question once and for all. He’d rather go too far to prove something once than have to do it over and over again.

So first, he goes to the radio and puts something on. Jazz, soft and dark. The hum of the saxophone fills him. He takes a deep breath, sets himself. Pours their drinks.

Ray’s, he hands to him, then leans against the arm of his own chair, legs spread. There’s just a flicker of a glance, and he’s suddenly sure of himself.

“Don’t underestimate me,” he says, soft. Carefully, he licks his lips, not too lewd but enough to be noticed. “I’ve been fucking since I was fourteen. You think I don’t know how to turn someone on? Do you have any idea what I can do with my mouth?”

It’s a subtle thing, but Ray swallows, and Rudy rubs his own thigh, slow and high up. Ray’s eyes dart to the movement.

“Would you like to find out?” And then, very clearly, Rudy looks down to Ray’s crotch, the front of his slacks filled out more in the past couple minutes. Ray spreads his legs and Rudy sets his glass down, sinks to the floor. Pushing it a little further just for the naked and inarguable lust in Ray’s eyes as he looks down at Rudy, between his knees.

Rudy realizes very suddenly that he’s miles on the wrong side of the line he should’ve toed. This is fragile, or it’s already broken, he’s not quite sure which. But he’s going to pull through it, very carefully. He’s going to make his point, and Ray won’t be able to question him on this again.

So his hands find the insides of Ray’s knees, and what he’s going to do is crawl up him until they’re face to face for his _I told you so_ , and he’ll win. It'll be done.

But what he’s not counting on is for Ray to move, and he does. One second, Rudy’s tensed, about to rise smoothly, and then Ray unbuckles his pants, and it’s strangely shocking. Rudy freezes, caught staring at the trainwreck of Ray pulling his dick out, and that’s when he realizes that he’s made a very, very big mistake. A clothed erection is ambiguous, it can be played off, it’s something that can be recovered from. It’s private. The penis in front of his face makes this sex, makes it real, makes backing out at this point dangerous to everything he’s worked for.

He can keep his dignity and get up and odds are, his career is over. Or he can sacrifice the next fifteen minutes of his life and walk out of this room with his future secured. It's that simple. Does he want to make it or not.

It’s one time and it’s over. He’s golden. 

If he can get through his mother dying, this won't be the worst thing to happen to him. Besides, it's not like it's the first time he's done something with a man. There was a good few months where he'd been fooling around with a boy in his choir before the boy moved away, so it's nothing new, at least.

 

Fifteen minutes later, he pours an entire sample bottle of mouthwash into his throat, and it's like nothing happened. Nothing at all. It’s a night like any other. 

Tomorrow, he's gonna be everything he needs to be. He's gonna be sexy and confident and on fire. That's just how Rudy is. 

He's gonna do what he needs to.

 

 

 

 


	4. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> m not dead

It’s twenty minutes on the interstate from the Nashville airport, in a barnacley suburb clinging to one main road for miles and miles. The complex is nice, though. The same kind of place in the city probably costs _way_ more.

“This is me,” Mason says unnecessarily once he parks. He leads Jay to a side door, which, surprisingly, yields to a set of stairs.

The whole apartment is on the top floor with a wide-open living room and kitchen made to feel like a loft. It’s nice, if a little impersonal; there’s nothing on the walls. Everything is white or near it and very clean. No shoes by the couch, no cups left out. It’s a little weird, but Mason was always neat and Jay reminds himself that he’s not allowed to pass judgement.

“They’re out getting food,” Mason updates, looking at his phone. “I don’t have a spare bedroom, so pick a hotel and I’ll drop you off there later tonight.”

“It’s like that?”

“Yep,” Mason pops out, taking his carry-on down the hall, presumably to his bedroom. Jay collapses the handle of his suitcase, tucking against the wall out of the flow of traffic. The beanie comes off and he folds it, not sure what to do with it.

“Why don’t you have a dog?” Jay calls down the hallway. “I always figured you’d have a big, fluffy dog.”

“I had one,” Mason says, coming back into the room in his socks. He’s taken off his jacket and starts on rolling up his sleeves. “Had a tumor. He’s out on the ranch now.”

Probably cried like a baby. Jay would’ve had to hold his hand and everything.

Which didn’t happen because he wasn’t there. _He wasn’t there_.

It’s gonna be like this, then. This whole thing, until they’re done, it's just gonna be him getting smacked in the face by his absence from the past twelve years of Mason’s life, then reminding himself he doesn’t have a right to not like it.

Great.

Fucking fantastic.

“So when are they—“ Jay’s cut off by the door downstairs opening.

“It’sa pizza!” calls out a familiar voice, and Jay’s eyes burn. His throat gets tight.

“Rudy, you better not’ve gotten too good for Little Caesars,” says Jasper.

Jay grins, coming to the top of the stairs. He starts to quip, but it flies right out of his head when he sees them.

Jasper puts a hand on his chest, taken aback. “You’re a lumberjack now?” Luke shakes his head, smiling, and pushes past him with the pizzas.

“Least I’m not a househusband.”

“The years _have_ changed you, man,” Jasper tells him seriously. “You’ve lost your fashion sense. And any and all _taste_ , good God.” As Luke puts the pizzas down, Jasper crushes him in a hug. The weird thing is he totally smells the same. Jay’s throat gets tighter.

“I _really_ fucking missed you,” he says into Jasper’s shoulder.

A warm weight presses against his back. “You better have missed me too, you jackass,” Luke says, warm breath puffing against his hair.

“Of course I did. Of _course_ I did.”

When they pull away, he wipes his eyes, trying to keep his cool.

“Oh man, it’s so weird to look at you,” Luke says, then shakes his head. His features have settled in the years. His hair has an early touch of silver to it.

Jasper looks almost exactly the same in the face, but where he used to be lean, he’s softened a little. Like he’s five years away from a little belly. His hair’s short, close to his head, but a definite change from the manicured buzz he used to keep up.

The fridge door closes loudly. “Beer’s in the fridge,” Mason says, a plate of pizza in his hand. He doesn’t look at them, just hops up onto the counter and starts digging in. Lucas squeezes Jay’s shoulder as he goes in for food.

It’s weird. The four of them. Together again. Everything’s right and wrong all at once.

They don’t move to the table, they just stand around in the kitchen. It’s intimate and not at the same time.

“So what’re you up to these days? Besides chopping down trees for firewood,” Jasper asks.

Jay shrugs. “I have a bar. Sort of. I run it with someone. We’re doing this microbrewery thing. We sell kegs across the northwest.”

“That’s sweet,” Luke says with his mouth full.

“You know, the girls and I bought a wine-making kit,” Jasper tells him.

“You bought a wine-making kit with your kids?”

Luke shakes his head vigorously. “Oh no no, Jasper has this whole thing where he thinks he’s a Desperate Housewife. His only friends besides us are all the ladies and one other gentleman of his neighborhood, and all they do is drink wine and talk shit.”

“Mock me all you want, but it won’t make you my best friend,” Jasper tells him.

“Who’s your best friend?” Jay asks, trying to be polite.

When Jasper grins super wide, Luke rolls his eyes, but Jasper doesn’t seem to notice. “Angie, my wife. Oh, you’re gonna have to meet her. Don’t worry, I’ll work out all the details. She’s the best person you’ll ever meet.”

“Yeah, he’s, like, totally in love with her,” Luke says. “It’s gross.”

“That’s really great, man,” Jay tells him.

Jasper nods, proud. “I know.”

Jay looks over at Mason, who hasn’t said a word. He’s looking down at the empty plate in his lap, but he looks up after half a second. His eyes aren’t friendly. His jaw bulges.

“We should get going, check you in somewhere,” he tells Jay, his voice rough, hard.

Jay nods, but Luke has to open his mouth. “Wait, what d’you mean? He isn’t staying here?”

“There’s no room,” Mason says simply.

“The three of us can fit on the pull-out,” Jasper tells him like it’s his decision. He’s good at that.

Jay waves a hand at them. “It’s fine, guys, I don’t wanna do that to you.”

“Exactly," Mason says, "so we’re gonna go—“

“What do you think will happen if someone ‘leaks’ overnight that he’s in town?” Jasper asks. “Have you told anyone that you’ve found him? Anyone at all?”

“Only my manager knows,” Mason assures them.

Luke narrows his eyes. “Do you trust her?”

“Yes—“

“Did you call her about it? Text her?”

Mason shrugs. “I mean, yeah, so what—“

“What makes you think they’re not monitoring your phone?” Jasper says, oddly belligerent. “They’re not above it.”

“I really think it’s going to be fine,” Jay says, confused by their tense looks.

“A year ago, I drunk-tweeted about some of the shit we went through,” Jasper tells him. “Two weeks later, my nudes leak online. My wife’s nudes. It wasn’t a weird coincidence. Someone really had to try. I kept my shit _secure_. I don’t think they’ll let us keep this private, and at least if you’re here, we’ll _know_ if a mob of paps come after you.”

Jay frowns, concerned but not surprised. He’d believe it, after everything. There’s no depths any of those people won’t sink to.

“So now I’m the jackass who wants to throw him to the wolves,” Mason says. “Y’all act like it’s not within my rights, but it is. I get to say he can’t stay here. This is my home. I don’t have to let him.”

“He’s right—“ Jay tries, but Luke cuts him off.

“We do this as a team or not at all. We are _united_. If we’re not, trying to make this work could destroy us. I’m _not_ going to let that happen.”

“He already destroyed us!” Mason throws at him, and Jay’s not a part of this conversation anymore. This decision, the decision to let him back in, it’s not his to make. He’s an outsider. And it feels like absolute shit.

“I’m gonna go smoke,” he says quietly and slips away.

Outside, seated on the curb, he lights his cigarette and pretends Mason’s words aren’t ringing in his head.

This isn’t his fault.

The leaving is, obviously, but he didn’t _ask_ Mason to show up on his doorstep. Jay’s doing _him_ the favor. Fuck, Mason doesn’t even get it. Never did. That this isn’t just going to be _hard_ for him. No, it’s going to be excruciating. If it’s anything like last time, he’s gonna want to tear his skin off every second.

But all Mason sees, all he’s _ever_ seen, is the performance. How he’ll look like he loves it, loves himself, the crowd, the whole act, and his face will cramp from smiling and he’ll start to lose pieces of himself until he’s not even sure who he sees in the mirror. Until he wakes up in places he doesn’t remember going to and he forgets that he doesn’t owe anyone for the life he’s living, that he’s his own man.

No, he needs to get rid of this feeling. If he lets himself feel hurt by this, by Mason, it’s only gonna be worse. All of the old hurts will surface, and he’ll remember what it is to _hate_ him, and it’ll spiral from there. It won’t just be this tucked away thing that’ll disappear in a burning kiss backstage. Every fight will come back, all of the insecurities, all of the guilt, and he’ll just _hate_. It will consume him the way all lies do, and one day, quite soon, he’ll crack and do something stupid, like tell Mason he never stopped loving him, and it will wreck him. It’ll wreck them both, probably.

Shoes tap the pavement behind him, and a “Hey,” that comes from Jasper, who sits down next to him.

“You’re staying here tonight. Not that anyone could possibly recognize you as a former sex symbol in those jeans.”

Jay looks at him, honestly surprised.

“You really did a number on him. Not that you don’t know that. I know you know that. I wouldn’t have done the same thing, but I get how you were trying to give him a way to let go. In your own way. For what it’s worth, I get it.”

“I did it because I had to—“

“I said that I get it, not that it was the right decision. Whatever was going on with you, you could’ve talked to _any_ of us about it.”

Jay shakes his head. “He couldn’t know. It would…Have you ever seen the person you love be, like, really, truly disgusted by you? I mean, they won’t even come _near_ you because it makes them sick. That’s what I was in for. If any of you knew, he would find out, and then he’d never be able to look at me again.”

“I don’t think he’d—“

“Well, he did it before, and this wasn’t like that little mess, when it was something I didn’t even do. This would’ve been real and he wouldn’t— He would’ve never been able to get over it.”

Jasper takes a deep breath, lets it out. “I think you need to tell me the whole story.”

As if he could. That would go over _great_.

“Rudy. Tell me.” The name hits him weird, but he lets it. Jasper’s giving him that stern look he has that’s made Jay confess a hundred things to him. If there’s anyone who could sit on it and keep their mouth closed, it’s Jasper. If he needed to tell someone, this is who he should tell. If he needed to.

“If I tell you, you’re gonna tell me something about how you would’ve cut in and prevented the whole mess, and I can’t hear that right now,” Jay tells him. “I’ve already spent years blaming myself for letting everything get out of hand, and then I moved past it and forgave myself for it. I can’t go back to that.”

“How could I possibly judge you any more than I do for that scarf?”

“It’s Mason’s,” Jay says, taking it off as he realizes.

“I stand by what I said.”

Jay grins, sinking back into a collage of memories where they’re sitting on the tour bus, passing a joint between them, saying every thought they’d ever had. Jasper’s the one he told about his family, about where he came from, even about Mason, when that first started up. They were close once, in a way he wasn’t ever close to Mason or Luke.

“I was into some shit. With Ray,” Jay says quickly, like ripping off a bandaid, then scrubs his hand over his mouth like he could take it back somehow.

“What kind of shit?”

“Just, you know, _shit_. I thought I could handle it, but I couldn’t, and the only thing I could figure out to do was run.”

Jasper takes a deep breath, lets it out.

Jay just _knows_ he knows. Just has the worst kind of feeling about it.

“Drugs? Or something else?”

“Yes.”

It’s out there. All of his worst moments, packed into one little word.

Shit, he shouldn’t’ve said it, but it’s not the first time he’s told Jasper something he thought might break him if he gave it to someone else.

“I need a cigarette,” Jasper says slowly, and Jay fishes out one for them both. He needs something to do with his hands.

There’s nothing, though. The follow-up never comes.

This is where Jasper connects the dots, where he realizes that maybe Jay never really deserved anything they got. That he’s just a collection of lies.

“Okay, you have to say _something_.”

Jasper opens his mouth, closes it, tries again.  “I wondered.” Jasper doesn't meet his eyes. “Not, like, concretely or anything. Just had a weird feeling. And I tried to make it seem like you could tell me, but you never did. And then when he went to prison, I don’t know, I just figured you would’ve said something.”

“Prison?”

“Yeah, officially, tax evasion, but there was another case. One of his other bands, there was a guy who said some stuff happened. We always said, you know, _At least it wasn’t like that with us_ , and we don’t talk about you, so it just kind of ended there. Was that...you know what I mean.”

“It was just if I wanted stuff. It wasn’t even, like, every day or anything. Just sometimes. More, later.”

“The album?” Jasper guesses.

“I had to warm him up to the idea of us writing our own music. We did all that work, for so long, on top of everything else, and for all of it to be for _nothing?_ That wasn’t an option.”

Jasper lets out a low whistle. “Then damn, aren’t we the assholes for dropping your writing credit? Shit, man.”

“Yeah, well,” Jays says, like he knew about that. Like it doesn’t feel like getting kicked in the gut. He doesn’t get to hold anything against them.

Jasper chuckles for a second, then sobers up. “Probably a good thing you never told Mason. He would’ve killed Ray. In a second.”

Jay shrugs. “Probably, yeah. There was a good minute there where he really was convinced he loved me.”

“You coming back, it’s messing with him. He’s—“

“ _He_ was the one who found _me_.”

“I know. But I don’t think he thought it through very well. Brought back a lot of old shit. So if you can, just. Leave him be. _Please_. You didn’t see it the last time. You broke him. We did a lot to get him back together, so don’t fuck him up again, alright?”

“I wouldn’t,” Jay swears. “Never.”

“Well, don’t, you know, fuck him either. I mean it. I know how you are, or how you were, both of you, but don’t try.”

Something in him clenches. “I wasn’t exactly planning on it.” Oh, he wouldn’t do that. To Mason, let alone himself. It would be too confusing for him, and he’d start to think it was real, and no, he’s not going to shoot himself in the foot like that. “I’m here for the debt I owe him, and that’s all.”

“Good, then. We’re good. And I’ll keep that other thing between us.” Jasper gets to his feet and looks down at him. “But for the record, not now or anything, but eventually, you should tell him. Just my two cents.”

“It’s too much, I don’t know—“

“Not now. _Now_ , you should tell him about the absolute travesty that is that scarf. He needs to know he shouldn’t be wearing it in public.”

Jay cracks a smile. “Okay. I will.”

Jasper pats his shoulder as he heads back to the apartment.

“I did actually miss you, you know,” Jay calls after him.

 

When he goes back inside, Mason is nowhere to be found.

“He went to bed,” Luke explains as he sets up a bed on the couch.

Of course he did.

But he doesn’t get to be bitter about it. There’ll be some other time for them to talk. Or try, at least.

“I’m sorry,” Jay says, looking at both of them. “I don’t think I’ve said that yet, but I am. It’s not okay, I know that, but I want to do right by you both. And Mason too, you know, obviously.”

Luke shrugs. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? And yeah, it was shitty for a while, but we were all kids. Kids do stupid shit. But you’re here now, and that’s what’s important.”

Jay’s kind of taken aback by that.

“We’re good,” Jasper says and Luke nods in agreement.

“I won’t fuck it up,” he says quickly. “I know you can’t trust that, not really, but I’m good at this and I’ll do my best.”

 

Later, Jay tries to sleep. Jasper tosses and turns next to him, edging him off the bed slowly until he’s partially hanging off, muscles tensed to keep from falling off.

There’s no point in trying to sleep like this. A queen isn’t big enough for three grown men. Mason was right about that.

So he gets up, quiet, and moves to the armchair.

This is a mess.

If Mason thinks he’s having trouble with his people at the label _now_ , wait until they actually have it out for him. And they will. If they know he’s involved in this, that Mason was sitting on anything that might’ve been used to locate him, they’ll never trust him. He’ll be on the shortest of leashes, and that’s not something Mason will react to well. He’ll just snap and make it worse for himself.

This needs to be kept far away from him.

It’s pretty clear that Jay can’t stay here. Mason doesn’t want him around anyway.

Jay’s going to help him get out, but he’s gonna have to do it his way. They had a deal, after all.

 

###

 

Mason gets up to find only two sleeping bodies on the pull-out and a note written on a paper towel on his kitchen counter.

 _Didn’t run away. Holding up my end. Gimme two weeks._ _—_ _J_

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Mason spits out.

Lucas sits upright in a second with a noise of confusion, looking around wildly. Mason crumples the paper towel tight in his fist, throws it at him, and starts getting coffee together. He’s _definitely_ gonna kill someone if he doesn’t at least get his caffeine.

He’s so damn stupid, isn’t he?

Why on earth would he trust Rudy’s word for even a second? Why did he think this would work? Rudy’s only ever cared about himself. That’s just who he is. A self-obsessed prick with absolutely no sense of moral obligation. Of course he was just gonna fuck Mason over again. That’s what he does.

 

With a cup of coffee in him, he calls Emily. Jaz and Lucas sit at the dining table, quiet, the note between them.

“ _I was just about to call you_ ,” she says when she picks up.

“You know that thing we talked about? Yeah, it’s not happening.”

_“What happened?”_

Mason pinches the bridge of his nose. “He’s gone. I don’t know where, he’s just gone. He fucking—“

“I think we should trust him,” Lucas says, face serious. “I don’t think he’d just run away. I just don’t.”

Mason presses the phone against his shoulder as Jaz says, “We don’t know. We can’t know. But I think we should wait it out.”

 _“—Mason? Hello?_ ”

“Sorry,” he tells her into the receiver. “He left some shit note. I don’t know what’s going on. This was all a waste of time.”

“ _We need to meet. I’ll text you the details.”_

 

The text he gets sends them to a tiny little barbecue joint in the city. An early lunch, before the place can get busy. Ribs for brunch, it looks like.

A sweetly dressed, very put-together woman comes in, but she’s not Emily.

She _is_ coming over to them, though.

“Hi,” the woman says, stopping at the table. “Are we still waiting on Emily?”

Mason blinks quickly. “Yeah, and you are?” he asks.

“Oh, I’m Katherine,” she says in a rush. “Here to talk about managing you?”

Mason frowns, _really_ unsure of what’s going on. “Well, have a seat, I suppose.”

Catching movement in the corner of his eye, he snaps to the door again. And _that’s_ Emily. He pointedly looks at this Katherine and then back at her, and she winces in apology for half a second, but then it’s all business.

“You really shouldn’t all be out together in public yet, not until anything’s been announced,” she says as she slides onto Jaz’s bench.

“We’re all in this, all of us. That’s the only way we do this,” Mason says. It took a long time for them all to stop seeing each other as competition, and there was a time when they would’ve all thrown each other under the bus for a shot at center stage. Mason in particular, to be honest. Sure, Rudy wasn’t allowed to tell them that it had already been decided, that _he_ was the front man for them, that it was all his from the start, but Luke and Jasper had figured it out. Mason hadn’t, not for a long time.

Emily sighs but powers through. “I figured we didn’t need everyone here to discuss your closet strategy, but if you want it to be the whole gang’s decision, so be it.”

“We don’t need to have that conversation right now,” he tells them.

“Oh, but we do. If he’s gone rogue, who knows what could happen. What if he decides he wants to get himself on some exclusive to tell _everyone_ about how you’re apparently _married_ to him? What are you gonna say to the people who come banging on your door for an interview about it? Huh?”

“That’s _my_ main concern, by the way,” Katherine says. “And it’s something that will affect the whole group, you’re right about that. But we need to decide _now_ how you want to handle your situation, Mr. Emory. I mean, I need to know what I’m working with. Who knows, who doesn’t, figure out our worst case scenario and how far you want to go to protect your privacy.”

“Wait, are you two still married?” Jaz asks, hand on Mason’s arm.

“It was a _domestic partnership_. And no, we haven’t really talked about it yet.”

Lucas whistles, low, and it grates him.

Katherine holds up a hand, stopping him from launching full speed ahead into a lousy defense. “Look, at this point, we’re not going to do anything about it. Without Rudy, we can’t even finalize a separation, and it’s not like we can expect just any divorce lawyer to keep it quiet. So. We’ll leave that in the past for now until we find representation. But I need some answers. Who knows?”

Mason takes a deep breath. “These two, obviously. Ray Lewis, back when he was our manager, he…well, he found out and he made sure it stayed quiet. I think he might’ve paid some people off, back in the day, but I don’t know who. Probably a couple crew members, that kind of thing.”

“So the label knows,” Emily says slowly, and he can see the gears turning.

“It’s been made clear that they have proof that I’m not— they have proof, is the point. And they’ll use it and tank my career even worse if I don’t stay in line.”

Katherine shakes her head. “Someone may have told you that, but I promise you, they wouldn’t. Honestly…now, I could be way off, but boy bands are big again. Everyone loves One Direction. You went out of style, but you, all of you, could come back in a big way. Think about it: you’ve got the eighteen to thirty-fours on nostalgia alone, plus, if they’re smart about it, a whole new set of teenagers. You’re pure money, all of you, but Rudy…”

“Rudy was the star,” Mason says lowly.

“Rudy could fill whole a stage like I’ve never seen anyone before or since. All that personality, all that _talent_ , I mean, Rudy could’ve been the biggest celebrity of the oughts. And now we’re looking at an audience that loves to remember their good old days. Bring him back, and you’re making money off a demographic that’s just become middle class enough to be profitable.”

“Yeah, yeah, Rudy’s perfect, whatever, what’s your point?” Mason grits out. Oh, he’d forgotten what it felt like to have his insides burning and twisting in jealousy, but it’s right back, just like old times.

“My point is that it’s 2016,” she says. “It’s trendy to be gay now. Your whole secret love story could sell in a big way, and don’t think they don’t know that. But if you were to come out, then it wouldn’t make the label look good. Your story of being forced to stay in the closet to hide the love of your life, that’s _big_ —“

Mason holds up a hand, stopping her. “He’s not the love of my life, let’s get that one straight.”

“That doesn’t matter. The _story_ matters, and it’s a good one. You’ve been kept in the closet for years, forced to fake relationships with models and singers on their way up. They’ve used you to advance the careers of other people and meanwhile, you haven’t had a long-term relationship since. It’s a great story. Everyone loves star-crossed lovers, and the corporate sabotage thing, it’s perfect.”

“Okay, how’s this?” he says, keeping his voice low but intense. “We’re not selling that story. It’s not happening. I don’t care what else you have to do, but I won’t be that person.”

Katherine squints at him. “What, gay? Out?”

“Using someone else to sell albums is cheap.” He shrugs. “It may be something _he’d_ do, but I don’t believe in it.”

“Rudy’s not gonna tell anyone about it,” Jaz interrupts. “I know you think he’s the shit on the bottom of your ugly boots, but he’s had _years_ to tell people about it, since the very beginning, and he hasn’t. He won’t. He’s not trying to ruin your life this time.”

“Are you on _his_ side now?”

Jaz rolls his eyes. “It’s not about sides. It’s just— he came back _for you_. He’s doing this _for you_. I know you think he’s gone, but come on. You know Rudy. Always playing the long con. Give him a chance to work.”

Mason chews on that a moment.

He’s right. A little bit. Rudy’s an expert at these games, that’s not a point he’s gonna argue. But he’s asking Mason to _trust_ Rudy. That’s something different entirely. That’s like asking the sky for rain in a drought. It’s impossible to just make it happen. He’s been plucked apartand twisted into someone else and he never got back the part of him that’s able to trust.

Rudy’s betrayed him a hundred times. Mason can’t believe he’d do anything for anyone else’s benefit. But for his own, he would. Maybe that’s the one thing he can believe in. That Rudy’s looking out for Rudy.

Rudy can’t live his own life without Mason allowing him to. Mason could send anyone after him. So Rudy’s got to do what Mason wants, and he’s smart enough to know that.

Maybe Jaz is right.

“If we’re going to give him time,” Mason says slowly, “then what do we do in the meantime?”

Emily and Katherine look at each other. “Then we’re going to proceed like we don’t know he’s gonna come out of the woodwork,” Emily says. “You’re gonna agree to do the reunion tour, the three of you. And you better hope he’s coming back.”

 

A week later, the three of them are at a weird little coffee shop in the city after a meeting with one of the label’s publicists. Mason chews the straw of his Italian soda as Lucas eats a muffin piece by tiny piece. Jaz scrolls through his phone idly, one earbud in.

It’s gonna be a lot, this tour. Radio interviews, web interviews, a couple TV spots, all plotted out in their calendars.

They’re really doing this. _He’_ s really doing this.

Jaz shifts in the corner of his eye, so Mason glances over. Slowly, Jaz grins, a real grin, not his usual sarcastic smile.

“Well, fuck me.”

“What?” Mason asks.

“Oh, you’re gonna feel like such an asshole in a second.” He hands over his phone and Mason takes it, puts in an earbud, hits play.

It’s _Ellen_. She’s announcing some special guest and then—

Oh, that’s Rudy alright. The crowd’s going wild and he’s just eating it up, grinning and waving as he crosses the stage to hug Ellen.

“Told you we should trust him,” Jaz tells him.

“ _I had fifty bucks on you being dead_ ,” Ellen says, and he just laughs. “ _You’ve gotta tell everyone what the hell happened_.”

“ _A long time ago, I realized that everything in my life was about money. I had no soul anymore. So I’ve been on a spiritual journey, traveled, really gotten in touch with myself as a person and an artist._ ”

Such bullshit, but the way he spins it, it sounds kind of believable.

“— _It’s all about expanding my horizons as a creative person. That’s why I wrote the song, and I wanted to make sure it was free._ ”

“Wait, when did he write a song?”

Jaz shrugs. “Who knows. He was always a machine.”

The screen switches to a youtube video, just a plain room, Rudy, a piano, and a microphone.

His voice isn’t exactly the same. It’s a little rougher in the lower register, and when he gets up high, there’s a little edge to it, but what’s probably smoke damage sounds like emotion, like his voice is always a hair away from cracking. Still, Mason knows it like the sound of his own voice. It curls around him and his heart starts beating hard as the nostalgia sets off his adrenaline.

Rudy’s voice is a gift. There’s no other way to say it.

Mason swallows thickly, telling himself not to react, that he’s supposed to be free of feeling like this, then tunes back in.

He’s back with Ellen now.

“ _So there’s something else you’d like to tell everyone, isn’t there?_ ”

“ _Yes, for sure. I used to be in a very dark place because I was denying who I was, but it’s not something that matters anymore. I know it’s not much of an announcement, but I am and have always been a bisexual man. I’m not interested in pretending to be anything else._ ”

Mason yanks the ear bud out.

“That fucking— No, I can’t watch. Jaz, take it, tell me if he says what I think he says. I swear to God, I’m gonna kill him—“

“I don’t think he did,” Lucas says, scrolling through his phone. “Not seeing anything conclusive yet. I mean AfterElton is speculating wildly, but I don’t think they have anything _real_.”

Jaz looks at him, calm and wise. “He’s doing exactly what he said he would.”

A soft, warm buzz, cicadas on a summer night, grows in his belly. It’s not safe to be pleasantly surprised by Rudy. If he lets that happen, soon he’ll have expectations, and then he’s really up shit creek.

So he puts the earbud back in and the video is still running.

“ _—Never a secret to_ me _, and I don’t think to anyone who knew me. All the guys knew, at least._ ”

 _“So,_ ” Ellen says, leaning forward, “ _your sexual orientation had nothing to do with you leaving the group?”_ It’s only barely a question, more of a statement, and really, Mason’s glad that it’s friendly fire.

_“Not exactly. I mean, I was young and immature. I thought if I made enough money, I didn’t need anyone to love me back. But I didn’t see most of the money and all the money in the world couldn’t make someone love me anyway. That’s not how the world works. Eighteen-year-old me didn’t get that, so I was bitter and I left.”_

Mason presses his fingers to his mouth, trying to be strong and mature and wise like he needs to be. Lord give him strength, but he wants to scream, but he can’t take back Rudy’s words and it’s reacting that’s the problem.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Mason says quietly.

“You know,” Lucas says, still staring at his phone, “I’m looking at a transcript and I know you’re probably thinking he’s pointing straight at you, but it could’ve been any of us. Or anyone we saw on the regular.”

Mason shakes his head. “You’re reading it? He’s playing this like he’s some poor sap with a broken heart, like he’s—“

“No, I really don’t think so,” Lucas interrupts. “I think he takes the blame. And even _if_ someone connected you to it, he never says that anything went on. I think he makes it sound totally unrequited.”

“His story for them isn’t his story for you,” Jaz says. “It’s not him. He’s playing a part. He _has_ to be kinda sympathetic to the public. But we know the truth. _He_ knows the truth.”

Lucas shrugs. “I mean, yeah, okay, so there’s a little theorizing, but not by anyone serious. And they’re looking at all of us, not just you. I think you’re safe.”

Mason gives Jaz his phone back, breathing very, very evenly. He wants a drink. It’s morning. He’s not going to drink. He gets to, after seven, if he’s very careful, so he can’t drink.

He’s fine. This will be okay. He’s going to trust Lucas and Jaz. They’re right about a lot of things. This won’t ruin him, and as long as they all know what’s true, that’s all that matters. Magazines don’t matter. The internet doesn’t matter. They know the truth.

 

It’s another week before they’re called in for a meeting in the office of an upper-mid-level suit. Mason’s never worked with him before, but he knows the man’s name, knows that he’s technically the man in charge of their tour and their whole operation.

There’s no assistant posted outside his office, just an empty desk, so, with a glance at Jaz and Lucas, he knocks.

It’s a minute, and then the door swings open. A lean, sharply-dressed man with a bleached smile stands in the doorway, and Mason figures he’s the assistant, given his vaguely effeminate air.

“Come on in, everyone,” he says, then holds out his hand. “Frankie Hobbs, great to finally meet everyone. Have a seat.” After shaking his hand, they file into the room, the boys sitting on the couch and Emily and Katherine pull up to the side. Mason’s uncomfortable, wary. It’s the friendly ones he doesn’t trust. _His_  old guy, well, his old lady, she’s disinterested at best, and Mason appreciates the honesty. There’d been another guy, and he’d been straightforward, even if he’d made it clear that the client he’d wanted, the one he’d been promised, was Rudy. That was fine. Ray had been friendly, charismatic, even, but he’d say one thing to one of them and another to someone else, kept them running around trying to impress him. They’d snapped at each other for months until they’d realized what was going on.

So no, Mason doesn’t trust his friendly smile, and he doesn’t trust what his gut’s telling him, that the man’s like him but not bothering to hide it. Must be nice to be out of the spotlight. Must be nice to be behind the scenes, pulling the strings, making the puppets dance.

“We have a bit of a proposition for you,” Hobbs says, leaning against his desk. “Well, let’s be honest here, less of a proposition and more of an announcement: there’s gonna be four of you on this tour. I’m sure you’ve been expecting this if you’ve gone online at all in the past week, but Rudy Burns has agreed to join you on the tour.”

He pauses, looking at them all, waiting out some kind of dramatic reaction.

“You’re right,” Mason says, “we’ve been expecting it.”

Hobbs nods silently. “Alright, so we won’t have any problems here?”

Shrugging, Mason shakes his head. Lucas and Jaz do the same at his sides.

“Good, good,” he says, then leans over to his intercom. “Rudy, my man, finish plucking your eyebrows and get your ass in here.”

He wears an easy smile, familiar, and Mason wonders if they’re friends. They’d look good together. They’re probably fucking.

Good Lord, where did that even come from?

It’s not gonna be like that. He’s not gonna side-eye every person who comes within ten yards of Rudy. That’s so, so wrong. It doesn’t matter, anyway, because Rudy’s not his. He’s got no damn right to be jealous.

The door opens and it’s Rudy, Rudy for real, not the strange, shabby ghost Mason rustled up in Idaho. Beard’s gone, hair cut high and tight, dressed in super tight skinny jeans and cherry red snakeskin boots, a sharp coat. His eyes look flat, dead, and really, that’s what was wrong. That impenetrable wall of apathy had been missing.

“Howdy, pardners,” Rudy says with a smooth grin. “Anyone gonna give me a hug?”

Jaz laughs at he stands, playing up the reunion, tugging Mason up with him, saying, “Oh, man, I’ve missed you, you beautiful piece of shit.” Mason gets dragged into the hug, Lucas locking him in from behind. Jaz is between him and Rudy, really, but Mason’s fingers brush against the prickly-softness of Rudy’s buzzed hairline at the nape of his neck. His fingers burn and he pulls away, clapping Lucas on the back.

Everything’s just peachy, according to plan. Rudy’s playing the part he’s supposed to. Mason’s never been better, even though his stomach’s twisting up in knots, like this was a mistake. But it’s not. It’s not.

“Alright, alright,” Hobbs says, capping his hands together. “I want to walk everyone through the changes to the tour.”

They sit back on the couch, with Rudy perched on an armrest, one stupidly long leg splayed out in front of him. He taps his toe in the air, and Mason realizes he’s watching Rudy.

“Alright, so, what we’re thinking is we start things where they ended,” Hobbs says and Mason twitches as he tries to still a shudder. “It’s a great story. We’ve gotten some really great responses to it in the focus groups. We’re gonna take the tour in a loop heading west instead of east from there, which will put us in New York when we need to be. Everything’s gonna work out great.”

Rudy nods. “That’ll be great—“

“We’ll be filming your announcement of the tour tomorrow, so don’t party too hard tonight when you go out. We’ve got you a corner booth at a nice little place downtown, just make an appearance for a couple hours. Mary will send you the details on your way out. Any questions? Nope? Good. I look forward to working with everyone. Let’s make some money this summer, boys!”

 

###

 

Rudy is wired.

Rudy is always wired. Always going, always hopping from foot to foot, always _on_. If he stops moving, he’ll die.

This is just how he survives.

And he drinks. Not to the point of being out of control, but enough to soften the edges of his brain into something palatable. He used to do the same with drugs, but he’s been burned by stuff that wasn’t what it was supposed to be, stuff that _was_ what it was supposed to be, rooms he didn’t belong in and memories and nightmares that can’t be pulled apart from one another.

He’s smarter now.

The hostess, pretty with a high ponytail, keeps putting down cocktails on their table, and he keeps drinking them until the thumping bass lines around them move into his chest.

Mason doesn’t drink any liquor. Doesn’t say anything about it, either, but neither does anyone else, and that tells him it’s normal for him now. He drinks two beers in two hours, perfectly measured, which Rudy shouldn’t be paying attention to. But he is, of course he is.

“Alright, who’s gonna dance with me?” Rudy asks, setting an empty glass down. He looks around at the three of them, and they glance at the burly guy pretty obviously stationed about ten feet from them.

“We’re not supposed to draw any attention to ourselves,” Luke says at last.

“Well, maybe _you’re_ not,” Rudy says, and he gets up and their bodyguard doesn’t stop him from moving into the crowd.

There’s always beautiful people at the places they send him to shine. There’s always girls and guys with pretty faces and nice bodies who want to dance with him or drag him off to the restroom for drugs or a quickie or both. But he’s just here to dance and get papped doing it. Let people know that he’s back. _Smile for the nice cameras, Rudy, give them something to photograph_.

So he does. He smiles wide and keeps the people moving and laughing and flirting.

He doesn’t think. It’s easier not to think.

A familiar hand on his shoulder pulls him out of it. Jasper, ducking his head like he’s trying to hide his face from the people around him.

“We’re heading out. You can come with if you want.”

Rudy looks back at their booth. Mason pats Luke on the back and gets up, heading away from the crowd. Bathroom.

“Maybe, let me pee first,” Rudy tells him, then gives him a smile as he parts the crowd. As if Jasper doesn’t suspect anything, but there’s a tightness around his mouth.

In the bathroom, there’s two stalls, one occupied by a very energetic couple, and a few urinals. Mason’s back is so familiar it makes him feel raw inside, but Rudy feeds off of crowds, off of attention, and it makes him bold. He leans against the wall next to the paper towel dispenser, waiting. His pulse crawls through his fingertips, tapping against the crook of his own elbow.

Turning to the sinks, Mason jumps a little when Rudy enters his field of vision, but then he shakes his head as he gets to washing his hands.

“This is the part where you says _Like what you see?_ and I win you over with my considerable charms.”

Mason looks at him, rolls his eyes and shakes off his hands.

“Oh come on, now,” Rudy says, rising at the challenge. “You used to love the whole public restroom thing. Lock the doors, no one would know who we were…”

Mason comes over, yanks a paper towel free. “I’m not doing this.”

“Not even a little?” Rudy hooks a finger in Mason’s belt loop.

After a second, Mason lets himself be pulled in, just a little, just a step.

“I know you don’t trust me, but I’m not asking you to,” Rudy says, eyes roaming Mason’s face, his eyes, his cheekbones, his mouth. “This is just physical. You look like you could use some kind of release.”

“I’m too old for meaningless sex in bathrooms.” Mason doesn’t move away, though.

Rudy moves in close, but skates past Mason’s mouth to his ear. “Then let me take you home. We can have meaningless sex in a hotel room instead. Much more comfortable.” His hand sweeps down to the front of Mason’s pants, and the tell-tale bulge twitches under his fingers.

“I don’t want this,” Mason says, his voice hard, hard enough to smack him to his senses. Rudy pulls back to look at him, then takes a step away.

“Sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Mason shakes his head. “You know exactly what you were thinking.”

“I never really had to do _this_ without you. I don’t know how.” He can feel his blood in his mouth and his hands. Feels alive, feels real. The way Mason always made him feel. Like he’s actually here, inside his body, not pulling the strings to make some pretty human puppet dance.

“Figure it out. I did.”

They fell into each other so early on, and those little splits between them were negligible. Rudy’s never had to exist untethered. The plummeting divide between him and the world, the drop at the end of the stage, it’s going to be unbearable alone.

Sure, he’s not really alone. Jasper and Luke are are with him, but it’s not the same. The only person who loves him at all anymore is in Idaho, probably cursing his name for leaving her with the work of two people. He’d left for Pepper an envelope with her name on it sitting on his kitchen counter. The title to his truck and a check to clear out his savings. It’s all he knew how to give her, just the peace of mind that comes from food on the table and paid bills.

Doesn’t change the fact that he’s standing in a public restroom, alone, face warm with the heat of a hundred burning bridges.

 

He _almost_ doesn’t catch up.

The three of them are down the sidewalk, walking towards the lot they must’ve parked in, and it’s clear that there’s no second thoughts there. He’s meant to stay behind.

So he hesitates, just too long to be able to make it to them.

He’ll get an Uber, go back to his hotel. Sleep alone. That’s normal, it is.

 

He shouldn’t call Mason, but there’s a lot of things he never should’ve done.

The call’s picked up, but there’s no answer, just silence.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” he tells his phone. “It wasn’t right of me.”

Nothing.

“I mean it. I’m sorry.”

Nothing.

“It won’t happen again.”

A soft breath, then, “ _Liar_.”

“I know it doesn’t change anything, but I didn’t realize I’d still— Not that it matters. I shouldn’t’ve made a pass. I just don’t know how to talk to you.”

“ _Then don’t_.”

“You know that isn’t gonna work.”

“ _That’s not an excuse_.”

“Would you rather I was honest?”

“ _Would be a nice change.”_

Rudy sighs. “Fine. How’s this: I’m terrified that I can’t do this. And I’m terrified that I can. This _person_ is all of the worst parts of me, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to find myself again. I worked _really_ hard to be a better person, and I know I never made any amends, but I thought I was doing the right thing by not existing to you. And I’m trying to let you hate me cause that’s the next best thing, but I don’t know what you want from me. So there.”

“ _I don’t want a single damn thing from you. You’re a decade late and a dollar short._ ”

“Well, let me do _something_.”

It’s quiet for a long time, and just when Rudy’s about to see if he’s still there, Mason’s voice comes through. “ _I trust the weather to do what I want more than I’ll ever trust you again. So I’m hoping you’ll just do this stupid thing and leave me alone, but I don’t think it’ll happen. I really don’t. So keep your sob story, and your new leaf or whatever it is, to yourself. Let me be.”_

The line clicks dead, and Rudy is lost. For a whole minute.

The second he drifts into feeling sorry for himself, he snaps out of it. That’s not the way to do this. Self-pity’s never really been his strong suit anyway.

He’s not totally helpless on how to handle all this, not really. Yes, the old Rudy’s area of expertise is causing a scene and getting an audience to happily eat shit from his palm. But that came after he got into this. And then, what he had, was just _being very talented_. Sometimes he forgets that there’s actually a reason he’s here. And sure, he wrote a song last week, but that was in a weird haze his third night awake straight, and he only remembers snatches of doing it.

But Rudy’s a good singer. A good dancer. And he can stomach sixteen-hour rehearsals, or he could.

He’ll just be good at this. The best. Show Mason that it matters, that he’s sticking this one out, that he can finish the apology he’s started.

There’s something scary about wanting to do this _for_ Mason, so he’s been pretending thats not what he’s doing, but it is. It was never that he didn’t love Mason. He just needed to try to love himself, too. Just enough to save his own ass, by whatever means necessary. Of course he loved Mason. That’s why he’d tried getting him to come with him in the first place. Not that he can exactly bring  _that_ one up.

But the emotionless pretty boy party favor wasn't really him. He was the boy who had Mason scared shitless intimidated. He was the boy who performed the night after he found out his father was dead because he’d promised that audience a show. No, he can be _great_  and he can put his feelings away, and he can even do both at the same time. He can be all business Rudy. That was a person once, someone close to who he was before. It’s doable.

It’s a long time before he sleeps, but he doesn’t believe in sleep anyway.


	5. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lowkey getting back into writing i guess?

Their home is a small, furnished two-bedroom apartment with stylist-purchased closets. They’re not allowed much of their own. Rudy notices Mason’s guitar, the only large piece any of them bring into their home. He’s sure Lucas and Jasper brought something from home, too, something small, but they’re not his roommate.

He’s pretty sure Ray very, very intentionally chose who was rooming with who. Rudy and Mason are only stuck together to heighten the competition. They're rats in a barrel.

Realistically, what’s gonna happen is: Rudy's gonna get himself punched in the face.

It’s something of a flaw of his that he likes to provoke people, see how far they’ll go when pushed. Mason’s so tightly wound and quiet and strange to him, it’s honestly a joy. His reactions are always a vivid range of emotions. His microexpressions are fascinating.

Sure, they’re in rehearsals for song and choreography from sun-up to sun-down six days a week, in the gym on the odd days and the whole day on the seventh, and they’re hungry from being fed twice a day, and everyone’s on the verge of slitting each other’s throats. Takes one to know one, and Rudy notices all of Ray’s little comments meant to make provoke them, have them dogfighting. There’s no energy for anything, but Rudy likes a personal project, and when he gets frustrated because he can't unwind Ray's game, to relax, he fucks with Mason.

So he walks around and sleeps in his underwear because it makes Mason’s nostrils flare. His clothes splay across his side of the room, just hanging over the halfway mark and every time he drops something to the floor, his jaw bulges. Didn’t take long to figure out that Mason’s neat and a bit of a prude. And _God_ does he spend forever in the shower. Like, it’s a good thing they’re not paying for water because Mason’s probably causing half of the damage for the whole apartment in there.

And sometimes, Rudy just doesn’t want to wait an hour before he can shower the sweat of the day off himself. It’s pretty fucking rude. So, maybe it's also rude, but Rudy would  _love_ to see if he could shame Mason into being more considerate.

“Look, I’m sure you feel it’s important to jerk off, like, four times before you go to bed, but you’re not the only person who uses that shower. Some of us just want to get in, out, and in bed.”

Mason’s red, and _wow_ , so he _is_ jerking it in the shower. Alright. Rudy hadn’t actually thought he’d hit the mark with that one.

“Shut up,” Mason snaps at him, a little too late to hide his embarrassment.

Rudy rolls his eyes, yanks his shirt over his head. “Just saying, it’s rude. Try a box of tissues when _I_ ’m in the shower. Way less likely to clog up the drain.”

Mason turns even redder, and really, Rudy thinks he’s about to snap, so he high tails it into the bathroom with his towel.

The super weird thing is Mason will be awake when he gets back into the room. Probably thinks Rudy’ll slit his throat in his sleep or something. He’s always awake, fiddling with his guitar. It’s annoying. Maybe Rudy wants some peace, to feel _alone_ for once.

In truth, he’s been awake too long. Or he wouldn’t risk his life like he does. Because it seems like it's a grand idea to punish Mason by walking around naked.

It’s a second before Mason looks up and notices, and there’s just about steam coming out of his ears. Rudy keeps on like nothing’s different, rubbing at his hair with his towels as he goes to his closet to pick out his clothes for tomorrow.

“Put. On. Some goddamn clothes,” Mason grits out behind him, and Rudy smirks.

“Actually, I’m quite comfortable. Sleeping naked is so _freeing_.” He picks out a weirdly metallic shirt after some consideration of his options. _Now for pants…_

There’s movement behind him. “You think this is fucking funny? I don’t wanna see you like that.”

Something about his word choice makes Rudy turn around, and Mason’s there, fists clenched, eyes averted, red all over. His jaw bulges and very suddenly, Rudy realizes something he’s probably not supposed to.

That Mason _wants_ to look at him, just a little bit.

“Fine,” Rudy says, like he’s disinterested, and he puts on some underwear. Mason’s fists unclench, but there’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flash of disappointment in his face.

Interesting. Unexpected. He wouldn’t’ve guessed Mason likes boys, not in a million years, but he’s pretty fucking sure that’s the case. Very interesting. Texas boy’s breaking the stereotype.

That’s information he’s gonna hold onto for a while. Wait for the opportune moment. Not that he’s gonna tone it down at all. Maybe it’s wrong, but knowing Mason’s gay instead of a prude doesn’t make him want to cover up in the slightest. Let him burn. Psychological warfare at its peak. Make it so he can't ever relax.

 

Lucas doesn’t exclude him, but he doesn’t talk to Rudy in particular. That’s fine. He’s wary, but not rude. They leave each other to themselves. Jasper, though, Rudy _wants_ to talk to him. The cool and aloof thing, it’s always been something that’s intrigued him. Rudy pays attention to him as a character study, if nothing else.

Jasper is the other early riser.

Their apartment has a little balcony, and in the mornings, still dark, he and Jasper will sit over the traffic and drink coffee and smoke a cigarette. They don’t really speak, not until after the first cup. Then it’s casual, about the day before, and the coming day. Coworker conversation, really.

A couple mornings in, Jasper crushes out his cigarette and says, “There’s something weird about you, and I’m gonna figure it out.”

“You can guess, if you want,” Rudy says with a shrug. Jasper isn’t a gossip. Well, not a talky gossip. He absorbs it, and that’s safe enough.

“Where are you from?”

“The last place I lived was New York City.”

Jasper tilts his head. “How did you get here?”

“I was scouted.”

Jasper’s eyes narrow, and Rudy can tell he knows that he probably won’t answer any question directly.

“I won’t lie to you.”

“You just play your cards close.” Jasper pulls out another cigarette. “I started singing because of a therapy program from rehab. Not an addict, not in the traditional sense. Just fucked up. But I’m, you know, medicated, so everything’s fine. Nothing really bothers me anymore.”

Rudy’s not sure what to do with that, so he just says, “I’m seventeen.”

Jasper smiles like he’s cracked the case. “ _That_ ’s it. You act older, but you _look_ young sometimes. Oddly.”

“Well, now you know. And Rudy’s not really my name."

“I won’t tell anyone, but _you_ should probably not tell anyone else. If we weren’t told, I don’t think we’re supposed to know. Just a thought.”

Rudy shrugs one shoulder. “Yeah, I realized that I was probably supposed to have a legal guardian present for most of this. Honestly, I don’t know if Ray knows how old I am. He’s never asked.”

“That’s plausible deniability right there. Be careful.”

“I s’pose it is.” Rudy wants to tell him, then, about that night in the hotel room, feels that he _should_ , but he keeps his mouth shut.

There’s no way to make it sound like he wasn’t trying to sleep his way to the top. It was only that once, anyway, and Ray hasn’t brought it up since. And they’ve been alone together. So it was just some weird fluke.

“Well, I guess I have all of you figured out now,” Jasper says with a disappointed sigh.

Rudy raises a skeptical eyebrow. “What about the other two?”

“You wouldn’t want me to tell them, so I won’t tell you. I’m sure you’ve figured out Mason by now, though.”

“If you mean what I think you do, then yeah. I mean, it’s his business and all that.” It really is just basic courtesy, he figures, not to tell anyone now that he knows. That’s something Mason can do if he ever feels the need. Jasper might think Mason’s a collector of stamps or something, after all, so he’ll stay tight-lipped. “Wait, what’s up with Lucas?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jasper says with a wink.

“Don’t leave me with _that_!”

Jasper shrugs, endlessly cool. “Lucas will tell you if he wants to.”

 

Their second photoshoot, the first after the single's released, gives him no hints as to the outcome of the first, which was unremarkable.

Rudy’s been gnawing his lip raw worrying about it.

It’s something he’s had to really come to terms with, that he’s good-looking and that being modest to himself about it won’t let him use it. He has nice features. Strong, high cheekbones, shapely mouth, good brows. Other people have always paid him a little more attention because of it. Might as well do something with his face.

It’s weird that he poses in the mirror, for practice, but practice makes perfect. He’s figuring out the best way to hold his face to look dramatic, playful, mischievous.

The four of them are all good-looking, is the truth, and that’s intentional.

The photographer arranges them a hundred ways, figuring out how they look best against one another. Jasper’s got a great model face, thin and disinterested and delicate. He could be the prettiest of all of them, really. Lucas could be the most plain, but he’s got a boy-next-door kind of charm, sweet eyes. Mason looks like the captain of the football team, and Rudy wonders how true that is. If the boyish, all-American handsomeness to him made him popular, or if he was too quiet, looked at the other boys a little too much. Probably the latter. He's sure of himself, but not confident. No innate bravado.

They spend six hours changing clothes, getting made up, sitting and moving and rearranging their legs _just so_ , and by the end of it, Rudy’s not sure how it goes. They’ve taken pictures with all of them as the center, and plenty of solo portraits. Rudy can’t find a reliable pattern to it.

They’ll all figure it out soon enough.

If the single tracks well, it'll matter. They have to take off first.

But Rudy's already done all he can. Sure, it's technically not his job, but he worked the shit out of them to make that recording perfect. Wouldn't settle for anything less.

 

###

 

The first live performance creeps up on Mason. He’d forgotten what it’s all for.

Really, it’s seemed like it’s just his own personal hell. He’s trapped in a series of small rooms with a beautiful boy who looks at him like an ant under a magnifying glass, bright and painful. Rudy is the worst sort of torture. Untouchable like he’s holy, when he’s anything but.

Mason’s going insane. That’s the start and end of it.

His mother asks how it’s going with the other boys, and he just smiles and says _Fine_ , like his curiosity for Rudy hasn’t turned into something terrifying. Like every accidental time they touch doesn’t set him on edge for the rest of the day.

It’s not like Rudy even likes boys. Mason’s sure of it. He’s not the right kind of beautiful for that, too James Dean, all soulful eyes and a laser focus during rehearsals that’s frightening in itself. Yes, they all have a real chance here, but Rudy isn’t just good, he’s so deeply in it sometimes, trying to push rehearsals past what their voices can handle just to nail one note. And he hardly sleeps. Still tossing and turning by the time Mason drifts off, always up first.

He even sings in the shower.

“Their” songs, most of the time, but sometimes songs Mason’s never heard. Not that he’s heard a lot. Mostly country and church choir, a bit of classic rock. Rudy sings tunes Mason doesn’t recognize but he finds them caught in his head when he's alone.

There’s things about him Mason can’t figure out, and he finds himself telling his mother sometimes. “ _Mama, he does the choreography when we’re on break_ ,” he tells her, not sure if it’s because he’s scared of competing or in awe.

“ _You can only do your best_ ,” is what she says, and it’s not quite comforting. His best just isn’t as good.

The first time they’re properly backstage, in a dressing room amping up for the first show, Mason can’t even breathe, but Rudy’s stretching, humming, bouncing. He seems like more than just a person. Lucas and Jasper look nervous, but not anywhere near what he feels.

“Will you just shut up?” he snaps at Rudy, all of their songs melting together in his head until it’s all one pile of shit.

“Testy, aren’t you?”

Mason’s upper lip twitches. “Fuck you.”

“I’m gonna get some...bathroom,” Lucas announces, and Jasper hurries after him. Mason and Rudy snap at each other too much, probably, and neither of them will leave it for anything, so it’s probably wise to escape. Jesus, but he wishes he could.

“It’s okay to have a little stage fright.” Rudy’s smirk sets him off.

Mason doesn’t mean to shove him, but his body moves without his permission.

“Gotta be a big man, don’t you?”

 _That_ time, he means to.

Rudy side-steps too quick, though, and Mason stumbles, not catching enough resistance.

“Watch yourself,” Rudy warns, and when Mason swings, he finds himself on his back. Rudy’s forearm presses against his throat. Mason struggles, frantic and wild like a cat in a burlap sack. Snarls, heart pounding so loud he can’t think to use his weight right, throw Rudy off him.

And then Rudy’s mouth is on his, just for a second, and Mason will never move again.

“Thought that would scare you still,” he says, like it’s nothing, smirking. “Now, listen up: we’re all nervous. You don’t see anyone else trying to start a fight. Just breathe. You’ll be fine. You know all of this so well, I’m pretty sure you do it in your sleep. Don’t forget that.”

Mason’s shaking, just a little. “I’ll forget. As soon as I get out there and see all those people, I’ll forget everything.”

“Don’t look at them. You look over their heads or at me, and you’ll keep it together. Out there, we’re a team. Everything else stays backstage and we have each others’ backs. You got it?”

Mason nods, and Rudy climbs off of him, then offers him a hand up.

“Come on, let’s do some warm ups, get in our groove.”

And Mason, startled, follows his lead and does it. When Lucas and Jasper get back, cautious at first, they practice the harder section of one of their four songs, work through it until it feels easy, and then Ray comes for them. Leads them down a hallway until they can see the stage, puts headsets on them, though Mason's barely aware. Everything sounds far away, like he's staring at it through water. When the panic rises in the back of his throat, he looks at Rudy.

When Rudy catches his eye, he squeezes Mason’s shoulder, and Mason is helpless to do anything but follow him.

The crowd, in the heat of summer, the desert, sounds like the drone of a million flies, but Mason looks over their heads. He’s stiff, his body feels distant, but when Rudy waves, he does too. He forces a smile onto his face, spreads it wide. He's going to be alright. He's going to be alright.

Rudy looks almost more comfortable here than he does everywhere else, and he _always_ looks comfortable.

His smile is genuine, and he seems happy to be here, to see everyone. That confidence washes over Mason, and he forces himself to accept it. To feel comfortable that he knows what he’s doing, that it’s just another rehearsal. The audience doesn’t matter.

It goes by in a blur. His memory doesn’t record it fast enough as his body goes through the motions. Everything fades together until the end, until there’s no more moves left and he’s just _there_. Standing there with this noise trying to topple him like a wave. The crowd. They’re _screaming_. For them. They did good.

The smile that breaks his face is real. He looks at Lucas, at Jasper, sees it mirrored in them, the surprise and the joy. And Rudy, he looks the same as he did when they came out on stage, but Mason recognizes it as real this time. They’re so much more alive than they’ve ever been. This is why they do it.

Taking hands, they give a little bow like they’ve been told, and jog off stage, the deafening applause carrying them away.

They’re laughing as they run down the hall back to their dressing room, hooting and hollering, Lucas jumping on Mason’s shoulders. He throws an arm around Jasper, laughing into his head, and for the first time, they feel right together. They feel like family.

Without even thinking about it, he hugs Rudy full-on. Hair pressed against his cheek, smelling a bit like cologne and sweat and what must be his natural scent, and Mason just holds him tight. Almost doesn’t realize Rudy’s hugging him back. And the fucked up thing is, his heart drops into his stomach, blood running hot. Rudy’s body is against him, and it’s supposed to be innocent, but Mason wants to push him against a wall.

Laughing a little too loud, he backs away. Has to look natural. Nothing’s wrong. He’s not wondering if Rudy would kiss him again, even though he _knows_ it didn’t mean anything.

“I can’t believe we fucking did it!” Lucas says, grinning ear to ear.

“That was actually really great,” Rudy agrees, which is a little shocking since he’s always criticizing their rehearsals. He rubs Mason’s shoulder, which is an unconscious thing, he knows. He knows. But he still leans into it a little.

Ecstasy and fear whirl around in him like a bloom of dust. There’s nothing to do but accept it, accept all of this.

They’re gonna work, all of them. This whole weird dream is gonna work.

 

###

 

Their music festival debut ends up having perks.

Ray tells him their single is blowing up, that they’re fast-tracking they album.

But what Rudy’s really concerned with is something that looks almost like a break. A weirdly dramatic desert photo shoot that turns into an afternoon outdoors. They finally get to change back into normal clothes after burning up in _full suits_ under a 103 degree sun. There’s a tent, and the other boys seem content to sit in the shade and drink water, but this is the first time Rudy’s ever seen this much sand.

With a _Don’t go too far_ , Ray’s already given them permission to take out the ATVs while he discusses the horses that were promised for the shoot, horses he's paid for that he hasn’t yet laid eyes on. So long as they have a minute, Rudy wants to see how far the desert goes.

“Who’s going for a ride with me?” Rudy asks the other three, a helmet tucked under his arm.

“I have a delicate constitution,” Jasper tells him, stretched out on his back, fanning himself with a white balance card. “I’m not going anywhere until those clouds get over here.”

Rudy looks at Lucas, but he’s _definitely_ napping, so he looks to Mason. “Come on, Texas. I’m sure you love a good desert.”

“I’m from the hill country. Completely different,” Mason tells him, but he’s getting to his feet. “But fine. I could do with some air.”

He strips off his shirt and Rudy hesitates a second. No, he’s gonna leave his on. It’s just a t-shirt anyway, not too hot, and he’s not used to being shirtless outside. Seems like a great way to get a terrible sunburn. He grabs a couple bottles of water, too, trying to be smart about it.

There’s two ATVs to borrow off the location scouts, and Rudy starts his up without a problem, only a little nervous. It’s just like a really big four-wheeled bike.

Mason’s sputters and coughs, but he tries and tries to get it started. “No fucking gas in this thing—“

“I’m sure they have a spare tank,” Rudy offers, but they look down at the business tent, and it seems that there’s some kind of argument. Ray’s yelling, at least, and someone’s probably about to be fired.

“Yeah, no thanks,” Mason says, swinging off the vehicle. “Just scoot up a bit.”

Rudy lets him on, but when Mason can’t see his face, he smirks a bit. It’s almost clever. Almost.

Well, not that Mason’s probably even _able_ to flirt. Way too serious.

Mason leans back, holding onto something just behind him, and Rudy revs the thing, loving the feeling of an engine beneath him.

“Ready?”

“You’ve rode one of these before, right?” Mason asks.

Rudy shrugs. “Hold on,” he says, and lets it go.

The ATV takes off with a lurch, and Mason grabs him around the waist. “I take it that’s a _no_!” Mason yells, the engine noise and the wind roaring past their ears.

“How hard can it be?” Rudy asks as they reach the top of the dune.

“You’re gonna kill us both.”

Rudy’s stomach drops and he whoops as they start the drop, picking up mad speed, curtains of sand left in their wake. There’s a little dune, and maybe he should probably slow a little, but Rudy takes them over it at full speed. They’re airborne for a second, and when they touch back down, lurching, he hears Mason mumbling.

“What’re you saying?” he yells, twisting the gas all the way.

“I’m praying!”

Rudy laughs, heart pounding.

The heat doesn’t even feel too bad, not with the wind in his face.

And after a while, Mason relaxes. His arms stay locked just below Rudy’s ribcage, but he’s not squeezing the life out of him.

Rudy chases the clouds, wanting to see what natural shade looks like on the sand. And maybe he wants to escape a little. Take a breather. Ray’s stressing him out lately, acting like their performance wasn’t the best they’ve ever done. They’re good. They’re gonna be something. He knows it.

There’s more clouds than he’d seen from the tents, and it’s weird to see. They’re high and twisting, darker than he’d realized. At the edge of the shade he slows to a stop.

“Pass me a water,” he tells Mason. They hop off, and he starts sweating a little without the wind to keep him dry. The water’s a little warm, but it’s alright.

“You drive like a maniac,” Mason says. He pours some of his water over his head, shakes out his hair like a dog.

“Only ever driven a go-kart,” Rudy tells him, grinning, and Mason shoves him, almost playful.

“You coulda killed us, you know.”

Rudy shrugs, putting his water bottle back. “Pretty cool way to go, I think.”

He takes a drink and as he stares off into the distance, a grey curtain drops from the clouds, starting far away but moving closer until a flurry of cool drops fall straight down onto them.

Mason laughs, and Rudy laughs, tipping open his mouth to catch the rain. The sand washes off his skin, the sun, the sweat.

When he looks over, Mason has his arms outstretched, eyes closed and face upturned, and Rudy goes heavy at the line of his bare shoulders, his chest, his stomach. There’s a weird feeling in him, and it takes a second to recognize it. That he _wants_ Mason. His mouth goes dry. His hands go strange. How unfortunate. Especially since there's a decent chance that Mason would be up for it.

Mason opens his eyes, like he could feel Rudy staring at him. Maybe he could. His arms fall to his sides, eyes wide, and Rudy doesn’t think, just steps forward. It’s unclear who grabs who first because the next thing he’s truly aware of is the taste of the rain in Mason’s mouth. His hands are in Mason’s hair, wet with sweat or water or both, and he holds him tight. Their lips press together a little too tight between their teeth when they meet, open and frantic.

They break for a second and Rudy realizes a little late that it’s because Mason’s pulled his shirt over his head. Chest to chest, they push too hard at each other until they stumble and fall back against the wet sand abruptly. Rudy rolls over onto his side and laughs, not on purpose or anything. It just surges out of him. Mason looks at him, winded and wounded, like he’s expecting Rudy to do something terrible.

Rudy touches his cheek, follows the curve around Mason’s eye socket.

“Don’t think too much,” he says, his fingers slipping into Mason’s hair. He doesn’t have to pull because Mason comes to him willingly, rolls over onto him. His mouth is so soft and sweet, Rudy doesn’t even consider the fact that it's a bad idea. At the moment, it’s a very good one. Even with the rain, Mason is warm and heavy in his lap, his hands cupping Rudy’s face. The gentle pressure of his palms feels right, and it’s weird that he never considered him like this. Slowly kissing the life out of him.

Rudy feels his way down Mason’s water-slicked sides, stops where his hips meet the top of his jeans. He’s stronger, thicker than Rudy at the same point, muscles and curves that fascinate his fingers. When he starts to pull away, Rudy follows him until he can’t.

“I don’t really like you,” Mason says. “I mean, you’re alright sometimes, but this ain’t some whole… _thing_.”

“I don’t care. I just want to kiss you.”

Mason’s already flushed, but he gets a little warmer. “I s’pose that’s alright.”

Rudy traces his thumbs down the v leading into Mason’s jeans. “We can just kiss sometimes. Or whatever. Keep it simple.”

“I ain’t…” Oh, Rudy dares him to say he’s not gay. What a load. “I ain’t very experienced is what I mean to say. I don’t do this. Ever.”

“Oh.” Rudy shrugs, skims his hands up Mason’s ribs to his shoulders. “No big.”

Mason tries to look nonchalant. “I ain’t saying I ain’t interested or nothing, just don’t expect…You know what I mean.”

“Hey, as long as you’re not pretending you’re not gay, I don’t want anything from you.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, apparently. Mason sits back all the way, frowning, water running down his face, and this is all going in a very different direction than he wanted.

“You’ve known for a while, I guess,” Mason says.

“Not the whole time,” Rudy tries, not sure what he wants to hear.

Mason takes a long breath. “So, is this some sort of blackmail thing? Are you trying to seduce me?”

Rudy barks out a surprised laugh. “No. You just looked good and I wanted you, that’s all there is to it. Do you really think I’d do that?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Well, I couldn’t blackmail you because you could just blackmail me right back,” Rudy says.

“I guess that’s true.”

Rudy nods.

“How long have you known, though?”

“I guess,” Rudy says, “since the first time you saw me naked.”

That seems to satisfy him, which Rudy wonders about a little. But maybe he shouldn’t push the issue just yet.

The rain’s starting to let up, and then just stops abruptly, quick as it came, the clouds sliding further across the sky. It's weird, the air growing still, like nothing happened.

“Maybe we should get back,” Mason says, getting to his feet. So, apparently, that decision’s made. Rudy follows, tries to wipe some of the wet sand off himself, grabs his sandy shirt off the ground. Winces as he puts it on.

“Are you gonna pretend this didn't happen?” Rudy asks, and Mason turns.

“I don’t want to.”

“Okay.” Rudy nods once.

“Alright. Well. I’m gonna take us back. Still think it was a stroke of luck you didn’t kill us.”

Rudy rolls his eyes, but gives him that much.

Unexpectedly, Mason ducks in and presses a quick kiss to his mouth. Rudy smiles and puts Mason’s helmet on for him, then his own. They settle in on the ATV.

He hugs Mason tight, totally not feeling him up at all, and hooks his chin over Mason’s shoulder.

“We’ll pass through that rain again on the way back,” Rudy says.

“Good. You’re chafing my back.”

Rudy tweaks his nipple, smirking as he jumps a little. “Why don’t you just drive, Mr. Safety?”

“Always gotta get the last word in, don’t ya?”

“Obviously.”

Mason huffs, starting the ATV up. Against his better sense, Rudy’s a little charmed by it.

 

They get back home several hours later, and Rudy’s very impressed by his own cool.

He hardly looked at Mason at all. Didn’t give anything away.

He’s so proud of himself that he helps himself to a beer from the fridge when he gets home, sits out on the balcony with a cigarette and his secret.

After a moment, Jasper joins him, strangely a mirror of their usual mornings.

“I freckled, didn’t I?” Jasper asks, turning his face to Rudy for inspection with his eyes squeezed shut.

“A little bit, yeah.”

Jasper huffs. “It’s a curse, you know. Spots.”

“They look good on you, though.”

Jasper shrugs and leans back into his chair. "Everything does."

The sun is low, sunk past the buildings on the other side of the street. It’s still warm, but cooler than the dessert. Not that Rudy minded, even pressed up against Mason’s skin.

Which he doesn’t need to be thinking about. They can fool around after they go to bed, but it needs to stay there. Separate from the rest of this.

That’s not really a good idea, even, letting it happen again. Eventually, they’ll get confident in their ability to hide it, and then they’ll do something risky and get caught. It won’t be a secret for long, the more they keep doing it. And he’s pretty sure Mason’s interested in letting it happen again.

Well, really, Rudy wants to. That's the honest problem. He wants to see Mason, in all of his intensity, unravel.

“You’re twitchy,” Jasper points out.

“I’m fine.”

Jasper snorts. “Obviously not. Out with it.”

“I’m serious. There’s nothing to tell.”

Rudy avoids his gaze, just looks out into the distance like there’s something there.

“Mason’s been kinda weird this afternoon, hasn’t he?” Jasper asks, and Rudy’s spine goes cold. “Been in a really good mood since you two went out on that ride.” Well, Rudy might be able to control himself, but apparently he can’t control Mason.

“Maybe he just had a good time.”

He can _feel_ Jasper’s disbelieving look. It’s incredible.

“You can’t tell anyone. I don’t know what would happen, but you can’t.”

“You’re allowed to be friends, you know.” Rudy twitches, holding his tongue, afraid to implicate himself. “Unless you didn’t finally talk it out.”

“Not exactly.”

Jasper stares at him for a moment and then chuckles to himself. “Ah…so it’s like that, then.”

“It’s not _like_ anything,” Rudy says quickly. “There’s nothing to _be_ like anything. Honestly, I don’t even know what we’re talking about right now.”

And then Jasper looks _offended_.

“Okay, fine, a little something happened, but it’s not a big deal so we’re not talking about it.”

After a second, Jasper grins. “So, what, you just decided that your whole competitive thing was just sexual tension? Interesting approach.”

“No, it’s a separate thing,” Rudy tells him. “Totally unrelated. Still better than him in every way.”

“How long do you think you can look at it like that? I know you’re secretive and all that, but Mason’s an open book. Do you really think he can keep it to himself?”

“He’ll have to.”

“Well, good luck with that. Really.”

And like that, they’re done talking about it. Rudy will do what he wants, and Jasper doesn't care enough to try to stop him, even though he obviously thinks it's the wrong way to go.

It’s weighing on Rudy a little, but talking to Jasper won’t help. It’s Mason he needs to get things straight with.

His cigarette’s out anyway, so he drops it in the ashtray and heads inside. No one in the little living room or kitchen, but he hears music from their room.

Mason’s sprawled on his own bed and plucks at his guitar. He stops when Rudy comes in,carefully shutting the door behind him. The guitar gets propped against Mason’s nightstand as he sits up.

“We should talk,” Rudy tells him, standing there awkwardly.

“Do you want to sit?” Mason asks quietly, pointedly looking down at the empty half of his bed. So Rudy sits, and he can’t beat around the bush with it, so he just lets it out.

“If we’re gonna do anything, we’ve gotta keep it hush-hush. You’re not super convincing at that.”

“I can be convincing,” Mason says with a frown.

Rudy looks at him hard. “Have you ever heard of any pop-star who like boys? Besides Freddie Mercury, I mean. We’re not on that level. But have you?”

“I dunno,” Mason says. “Guess not.”

“Maybe if we get big, it won’t be such a problem, but we’re just starting out. Anything could tank us—“

“I can pretend. Been doing it my whole life. I can do this.”

There’s two paths laid out in front of him, and once he chooses, there’s no going back. This can be a weird thing that they did once and never think about, or not.

The smart thing to do is to tell Mason _no, not right now_.

Maybe later, if he’s still interested.

But Mason is stunning and his eyes are sad and Rudy wants to trust him on this.

“We have to be _so_ careful,” Rudy says and Mason nods, moving in to him. “I mean it. No one can think we can even tolerate each other.”

Mason keeps nodding, cupping his face, and Rudy stops trying not to kiss him.

This won’t go well. That much he knows for sure. But he’ll be damned if he can say no to Mason’s mouth and his big palms and the way he traces Rudy’s hairline with his thumb.

This will go horribly and he’s already accepted it.

His stomach drops when he realizes that he could be throwing away his shot for this, and he’s still helpless to do anything but guide Mason down until his back is against the bed and Rudy’s crawling over him, lost in his mouth.

 

Rudy can’t sleep.

He lays there, back pressed against Mason’s, trying to breathe slow and count to a million or something, but it’s no use.

The boy he knew like this, Jonah, it wasn’t like this with him. That was a few messy handjobs in the choir dressing room, a memorable trip, and nothing close to friendship attempted at any point. But Mason fell asleep with his arm around him and kissed him because he couldn’t stop, and that’s a reason to shut this down. That, weirdly enough, means he’s half-convinced that Mason _likes_ him. Mason, who doesn’t know the first thing about him. Mason, sleeping soundly, unaware that he just lost his hand virginity to a seventeen-year-old. Not that Mason’s _old_ , probably just eighteen or nineteen, but the principle of the thing is that Rudy is a walking lie.

Lies are easier to love, probably. Not that they’re there yet. Oh, if that day comes, when he’s _sure_ Mason does love him, it’s gonna be a disaster. Rudy’s gonna hurt him. No way around that one. Rudy has his eyes on the prize and he’s not gonna let anything get in his way.

Mason mumbles in his sleep, flips over, and Rudy is sandwiched against the wall. A twin-sized bed is really too small for two people, especially when one of them is Mason, who’s a sprawler. And one hell of a deep sleeper, goddamn. Rudy’s instinct is to get out of his way, but that’s not his only option. Feeling a little weird about it, he turns over, scoots, until he can use Mason’s thick shoulder as a pillow. Gingerly, he puts an arm around him so it has someplace to go, and he reminds himself that this is something normal people do.

It's uncomfortable until he realizes every muscle in his body is tensed. It takes a long time for him to, bit by bit, relax.

 

Jasper’s already outside when Rudy wakes up. He silently takes his usual seat and settles in.

“What’d you decide?” Jasper asks, breaking the quiet.

Rudy takes a drag, thinks about it. “I need you to tell me if you can tell what’s up. Any little slip, any time we’re too close to each other.”

“Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“What’y’a mean?”

Jasper shrugs. “I don’t know if you’re romantic or hormonal, but we both know it’s a bad idea. It’s kinda _human_ of you.”

“What else am I supposed to be?” Rudy asks, trying not to let that sting.

“You’re just, you know, _Rudy_. You’re very good at being an image, and I mean that as a compliment. You don’t seem to care about anything but performing.You’re very focused. Honestly, I hope it’s a horny teenager thing because that, at least, you’ll grow out of eventually.”

“If it is, I’ll hurt him.”

“Yeah, well,” Jasper says, “you’ll hurt him anyway. Mason’s just the type of guy to get hurt.”

“You think I’m making the wrong decision.”

Jasper makes a noncommittal noise. “It's not my problem. Really, I’m just interested to see how it plays out.”

Okay, so Rudy doesn’t like that. He’s already feeling cagey about the whole thing, and he’s not trying to start some whole melodrama with Mason. Not for a second. Mason’s just fine as fuck, and he feels _good_. Rudy doesn’t have to be anyone with him.

No one has to get hurt, anyway. It’s not like it’s serious.

 

###

 

Rudy’s not there when he wakes, but then, he’s always up before dawn. Mason waits for his alarm like a normal person.

He lays there a minutes, rubbing his eyes.

Rudy kissed him yesterday.

And he meant it.

Mason grins, scratches his belly. Oh, this is probably a world of problems just getting started, but he can’t find it in him to care. Rudy _likes_ him, and that’s something no one can take away. Even if he’s rude sometimes. Because he’s incredible most of the time. He’s more of a person than anyone else. Mason never knows what he’s gonna say or do, he’s just vibrant and strange. It hurts to look at him.

One day, he’s untangle Rudy into someone he can know, but it’s like he’s given Mason the end of the rope to start from.

 

He’s on his best behavior. He doesn’t let himself look at Rudy, not unless he’s talking. Doesn’t touch him. And when Rudy snaps at him, just like he always does, Mason throws it right back, just like _he_ always does.

It feels so much more dishonest now. The words taste metallic.

Mason follows Rudy and Jasper outside on a smoke break, and he hates the taste, but he needs to check in. Figure out if he’s overdoing it. It _feels_ like he’s overdoing it. But Jasper’s there, so he just plays it cool, pretends he knows how to smoke a cigarette.

Finally, Jasper stubs out his cigarette. “Well, I’m gonna go pee. See you inside.” He looks at Rudy for a moment, and Mason can’t see his face, but he worries. That maybe Jasper’s interested. Maybe Rudy likes _him_.

“You don’t smoke,” Rudy says. “He knows that.”

Mason drops the half-cigarette, crushes it underfoot. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says quickly.

“So. Have I done a good job?”

Rudy lets out half a laugh. “Yes, you did just fine.”

“I didn’t overdo it? I thought, maybe—“

“You were perfect.” Rudy looks around quickly and swoops in to find his mouth for just a second. “I kinda like you mean. It’s hot.”

Mason chews on that. “It don’t feel right,” he settles on.

“Please. You love not letting me get away with shit.”

“I guess.”

Rudy tosses his cigarette behind him and he goes inside, and all Mason can think to do is follow.

 

It shouldn’t be so hard to get to a phone, but there isn’t one in their apartment. The only phone he sees regularly is Ray’s cellphone, which he’s one probably half the time Mason sees him. He has this weird feeling that they’re not really supposed to be using phones at all, not that it’s ever been said to them.

There’s also the money issue. They have a house allowance, for delivery food if they’re not fed, or for odds and ends, but not really their own finances. They’re always told to ask if they need more money, but Mason doesn’t feel comfortable asking anyone for money.

He gets to call his mom every two weeks, if he's lucky.

When he’s pocketed enough change, he makes his way to the payphone at the 7/11 down the road.

“ _Hello?_ ” his mother asks, and there’s a lump in his throat at the sound of her voice.

“Hey, mama. It’s me.”

She makes a noise that’s garbled by the phone, says, “ _Oh, baby, I’ve been hoping you’d call._ ”

“Yeah,” he says, looking down at his feet. “It’s been crazy here. Had a hard time getting away.”

“ _It’s okay, I know you’ve been so busy. Oh, you have to tell me everything!_ ”

And he does, pretty much. Has to add change to the phone, but he tells her almost everything he can. Rudy, he talks around a bit. His mama loves him, she does, but he’s not sure how far that stretches, and he won’t test it unless he knows there’s a reason. Rudy’s too flighty. He always promised himself he’d save that conversation for when he knows who he’s gonna spend the rest of his life with. He’s optimistic, but not completely out of touch. He’s not there yet with Rudy.

But he does tell her about the other boys, how they’re good ones, the kinda quality people she’d like, and about how he spends his days, their performance, everything he’s been thinking but hasn’t had someone to talk to about. She tells him about the ranch, about fixing up the house. They've been meaning to a long time.

Really, she’s his best friend, and not in some sort of mama’s boy way. It’s been just them since he was eight, since Laney, and since Dad left. Maybe it’s because she’s young, or maybe it’s just that it worked out right, but they’ve always been thick as thieves. Talking to her, this whole weight he didn’t know he was carrying just falls right off his shoulders. No, he can't tell her about his little dilemma with Rudy, but he feels like it's gonna be okay anyway, just from talking to her.

He’s smiling, relaxed as he walks back to the apartment. Misses home something fierce, but it’s alright. She’s doing just fine, and home is good right where he left it.

When he gets back, Jasper and Lucas are playing cards in the kitchen with a couple of beers and a collection of bottlecaps. For a second, he considers joining them. But he’s tired and feels like there’s a good sleep ahead of him.

In their room, Rudy’s got his guitar, and Mason can’t tell if he feels possessive about it or not. Rudy’s plucking at the strings, adjusting his fingers to shift between major, minor, something augmented.

“You play?” he asks, kicking off his shoes at the end of his bed.

Rudy shrugs, then puts the guitar back where Mason keeps it. “No, just bored.” He flops down crossways on Mason’s bed. “You were gone a long time.”

The tough thing to do is make up a good story, but he’s not very good at that, so he just says, “I called my mother.”

Rudy’s quiet, so maybe he’s embarrassed himself. It’s hard to read his face. And then he sighs and tugs at Mason’s shirt, urging him onto the bed.

“I haven’t seen or talked to my father in over six months.”

Mason stretches out next to him. “Why?”

Really, he shouldn’t expect an answer, and all he gets is Rudy rolling over, curling over him, a slow kiss. Distraction, sure, but he’d _volunteered_ information about himself, and that never happens. And it’s not really a hardship to let Rudy kiss him. Never will be.

Sure, he’s a little afraid of being the go-getter. It’s all on Rudy’s terms, really, since Mason doesn’t care who knows. There’s never been a desire in him to be some kind of big-time musician. Or, well, pop star. No one’s about to give them a good beat-down, so it’s not something he’s worried about. But Rudy wants it kept quiet, and Mason’s still waiting for him to decide it was just some phase he was going through. Not that he’s ever said anything along those lines, but Rudy’s a famous person only some people have found out about yet. As soon as he gets where he’s going, he’ll be surrounded by beautiful people who’ll do anything to share a room with him. Mason just won’t measure up.

It's not that day yet, he reminds himself.

There's a boy in his arms, one who wants him, and touching him feels unreal. Like their bodies are made of hot glass, and maybe he wants to see if they'll melt together or just break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok we're not gonna talk about the like five playlists i have for this shit. one of them is entirely one direction. it built itself over the course of several long drives and we're gonna pretend that dignifies it being an hour


End file.
